


Flames Kept Captive And Cold

by SaturnineArbiter



Series: The Stars Are But A Current [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also Trolls, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Artificial Intelligence, Asexual Character, Attempted actual science, F/M, Genetic Modification, House of Suns - Fusion, Implied/Referenced Genocide, M/M, Mental Illness, Playing fast and loose with characterization, Psychological Torture, Sharing a Body, cloning, not between any major characters, oh yeah I forgot the implied/referenced incest, warning: still a biochem person and not a space person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:25:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnineArbiter/pseuds/SaturnineArbiter
Summary: Living in Eridan's body with him is enlightening in a lot of ways, Sollux learns- but the more he learns, the less he understands.For years, the Crockers had practically given up hope for Jake's recovery. Aradia, however, has unwittingly brought them some. It's frail, but they're willing to take their chances.Lalonde is getting upset. That, and suspicious. Frustrated by the lack of communication from Crocker, they decide to take things into their own hands.





	1. Ash and Dust

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to get up! I had a terrible semester, and yadda yadda, insert excuses here. It boils down to _I didn't have time._  
>  This one is shorter than Stone for Star, which is a bit embarrassing- I intended the parts to be divided up into equal chunks.  
> Anyhow, enjoy! Comments are not only welcomed but encouraged.

Chapter 4: Ash and Dust

Sollux

Sollux still felt wobbly even hours after his talk with Scratch. Eridan was kind enough not to say “I told you so” or act superior; obviously, he’d had his own experience with Scratch that had left him similarly shaken.

It had been news, learning about Scratch’s history. He was so much more deeply intermeshed in troll history than Sollux was capable of imagining. He’d mocked Captor gently, displaying an eerie knowledge of what had happened to Mituna and Damara. Briefly he’d toyed with Sollux, claiming that it had been his doing and setting him off-kilter with a series of words and names that Sollux couldn’t absorb. Eventually he’d admitted his innocence and then mocked Sollux further for even thinking of believing him.

Eridan drifted into the ‘room’, the only sign of his presence the soft rustle of fabric on fabric as he walked.

“How you holding up?” he asked, plopping down next to Sollux.

“I don’t understand,” Sollux said blankly. “What does he gain? What is he? Can’t he answer even that question?”

“He wasn’t being cagey.” Eridan grumbled. “We’ve been trying to get it out of him for years, and as far as we can tell he doesn’t know.”

“What?” Sollux jerked about to stare at him. “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?”

“He doesn’t know what he is,” Eridan said. “Or where he came from, or why he’s here. He’s as ignorant as we are.”

“I don’t—how can he not know?” Sollux was baffled. His jaw was probably hanging open, ears tilted in surprise. “He’s a computer! He has to know who his creator is!”

“Except he doesn’t.” Eridan seemed to contemplate something. “Sol, can you keep a secret?”

Sollux made a face. “Yeah, but even if I couldn’t, who would I go blabbing to here?”

“Point.” Eridan snickered. “Listen up: I don’t know what I am.”

Sollux waited for elaboration, but was disappointed. “But you do know. You’re a curator, right?”

“Yes, but what does that mean?” Eridan got to his feet and paced about the room. His face was thunderous, eyebrows creased in frustration. He walked with his arms behind him. “Where are we from? We’re artificial, that much is obvious. Our bodies are full of machines. There’s no way we could have grown to this size without the machines, but we can’t reproduce unless we’re large enough for our young to swim about our blood vessels. Someone made us—but for what?”

Sollux realized that this was an argument that Eridan had had with himself many times before, an argument that he would never win and never lose, because he would never know the answer.

“We aren’t even supposed to be intelligent!” Eridan whirled on him, eyes wide with fury. “We aren’t—we’re aquatic, we can’t enter the buildings in dad’s bones, so why are they etched with histories and maps? Are my bones scrimshaw like that as well? We were created like giant buildings for _someone else’s use!_ Of course I can’t fault Scratch for not knowing— _I_ don’t know my creator, nobody does!

“We know our purpose, at least—to collect and safeguard information. Gather and keep and loan out in tiny increments to people with the right access codes or words. Cronus and I are _glitches_. We can override some of our base programming. If I were as a curator was meant to be—” here he stabbed a finger at Sollux, face twisted from some unrecognizable emotion. “—you’d be dead! Feferi and Meenah would have been raised alone, us like puppets recording and waiting like computers.”

Without thinking, Sollux stood and reached out. He placed a hand on Eridan’s shoulder. “Breathe, asshole.”

Eridan glowered and took several gasping breaths. “Look, Sol—me and Scratch, we’re the best proof you’ll ever have of there being a god in this universe, or of intelligent design. There’s no such thing as evolution that could produce a species like mine.”

_No, there isn’t, is there?_ Sollux thought but didn’t say, staring at Eridan and thinking that all over. “Then what is this? All of this? Any of this? Who the fuck made a fucked-up universe like this one?”

“Who knows?” Eridan asked, half-rhetorical. “I know so much shit, Sol, but I don’t know the important bits. What I wouldn’t give to know what I am and how—there isn’t much.”

“I got that much.” Sollux said wryly. “If I were you I’d be going crazy all the time.”

“Good thing you’re not me, then.” Eridan shot him a glare. “But I gotta handle all of these problems that you dumbass quicklifers have, and pretend I care and shit.”

“You care,” Sollux grinned at the sour face Eridan pulled. “You care a lot, you liar.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Whatever you say,” Sollux sang out, and danced back when Eridan growled and took a swipe at him.

“Either way, what the fuck?” Sollux asked after a moment’s silence. “Scratch is—and he’s been— _all along_ —and shit, what, our Precursors want us dead?”

“Want you as pawns,” Eridan corrected. “But yes. Anyone who resists, dead.”

 

Rose

There hadn’t been any messages from Crocker in nearly a year.

Rose rubbed her chin. Dave and Roxy were respectfully silent behind her, but truth be told it wouldn't have mattered even if they'd been loud.

Propping her head in her right hand, thumb looped under her chin and first and middle fingers tucked into the hollow just above the bone of her eye socket, just to the right of her nose, she raised her left hand to touch her fingertips to her temple.

As much trust as there was between Houses Crocker and Lalonde, it was obvious when they were hiding something.

Dave and Roxy took a simultaneous breath and Rose chose that moment to peer through the Light of Calliope.

There were a pair of trolls in Calliope with this similar ability. One was loyal to Crocker, even if only through personal attachment, but she wasn’t Rose’s concern. It was highly unlikely she was keeping watch on Crocker’s peripheries with constant vigilance.

Rose, in a moment, flexed her mental muscles and peered into space, only mildly surprised at the 'secret' being hidden on Hellmurder Island. She strolled inside delicately, ignoring Caliborn's darker sibilant whispers, and followed the thread of light that led her to one of the various planning rooms.

She was glad they had not asked Hal to hack the planning room cameras. Probably to evade that exact possibility, they were meeting in the auxiliary room.

John was the first person she saw. She ruthlessly crushed the surge of disappointment at the knowledge that John had been lying to her and keeping secrets. She had thought there was no foolishness between them. Evidently there was.

More surprising were Father Crocker and Aradia Megido. Dad was an obvious conspirator, but the Crockers had never had much business with the Megidos. Once Jake had run a mission with a Megido named Radine, but that was long past.

Rose wished the Light allowed her to hear conversations.

The thread urged her onwards, down hallways towards the infirmary. She followed it, half-curious.

The buzz emanating from the fourth room was heartstopping. Only shadows whispered like that, but there was something hard and bright to the noise. Hesitantly, she stepped forward. The Light of Calliope was nominally a similar shade to this, but there was something...

Rose was cut off by the only other thing that made noise in the Light. Another walker of the Light.

She sighed in resignation as Grandfather Crocker landed on the ground into a spry crouch. He dusted imaginary dust off of himself and adjusted the goggles with a brilliant grin, aging backwards to match her. Like this, he was identical to John or Jake, but with John’s more diminutive height.

"Miss Lalonde, I didn't think I'd have the pleasure of your presence for a great many decades." He said, holding out his hand.

Rose put her hand in his and rolled her eyes as he kissed the back. Grandfather Crocker had had a whirlwind romance with both her Housemother and her Housemother's sister, one of whom still cooed over his elegance and jokester ways. Her Housemother's sister, Rhea, had told Rose in confidence that, player though he was, Grandfather Crocker was a gentleman and kindly, with no real harmful intents towards House Lalonde, ever, even if he had made some… peccadillos, in the past.

Dirk did not agree. Rhea said that Dirk was a sourpuss far too much like their Housefather to ever like Grandfather Crocker. Dirk said that Rhea was possibly blinded by the two decades she’d spent working with him and being his moirail. Rhea said that Dirk was jealous because he’d been rejected by every guy he set eyes on. And then told them that she was stopping this argument right here and right now, what mattered was that Grandfather Crocker was a trustworthy person for the most part.

Grandfather Crocker's hands were scarred nearly white under his gloves. If her Houseaunt was to be believed, it was from tearing open three stasis bubbles in succession, allowing eddies of spacetime to shred the skin down to the bone. The scars were covered with cobalt gloves, silky against her skin as he squeezed her hand lightly before releasing it.

"Miss Lalonde," he purred. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"The secrets your House has kept," Rose replied bluntly. He frowned playfully.

"How you take after your aunt! Oh, no worries; it's delightful. I did always adore Rhea. But secrets, Rose?" He tapped the tip of his nose with a smile. "I know how you feel about them, no?"

"I know." She sighed again, this time with more feeling. "And I also know that you feel the same way."

He smiled goofily, blue eyes shimmering. "Oh, Rose! Of course you know how I feel about secrets between our families. Nothing hidden! But how's your brother?"

Holy crap, she was going to deck him if he kept pursuing that line.

"Straight."

"Shame. Has he at least left behind those glasses in favor of something less… occluding?"

"No."

Grandfather Crocker's face fell into a pout. "Not even any black mail-worthy stories for a contact starved, twice-dead bachelor? Long have I loved him!"

"I think you mean our Houseuncle. And everyone ever in my family. And half of Caliborn's Houses." Rose growled.

"I feel a lot of love."

"You feel something, all right." Rose sighed. "Did you ever give up on Vantas?"

Grandfather Crocker raised an eyebrow. "Him dying did put a damper on things."

"And how did House Serket work out for you?"

"Naeske!" He exclaimed with nostalgia. "And the lovely Mindfang. You know how that turned out. I'm here and the Marquise isn't, after all."

Which wasn't menacing at all. Really. Rose frowned at him in disapproval. "How your House is even partially crafted from you is beyond me."

"Ah, but haven’t you seen the twisted webs they pour them selves into?" Grandfather Crocker asked. "You know exactly how."

Having run around in circles, Rose decided to cut to the chase. "Speaking of Seers and Crockers, what is John hiding from me?"

Grandfather Crocker frowned, a look of almost-dismay on his face. "I had hoped you'd abandoned that path of inquiry," he said sadly.

"I have not." Rose replied.

"Obscure yourself, kindly." Grandfather Crocker said wearily. "Allow me ingress. I shall need it, I fear. He can do me no harm, but he may be most injurious to you."

Curious, Rose swathed herself in saffron veils, allowing Grandfather Crocker to hold her bare hand. With only her eyes and ears open, she glanced at him.

The door opened in a flood of lime-tinted white light.

Jake Crocker lay on the bed. A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin, and he groaned in apparent distress, writhing under the sheets against restraints that ran, delicately, through the skin of his wrists and elbows. His hips and waist were similarly pinioned and he whined softly in his sleep, trembling. The restraints continued in a series of belts down his thighs and ankles, looking vaguely like a particularly grim setup for a bondage encounter.

Jake stilled and, impossibly, opened his eyes. They were completely white with a hint of translucence, and Rose found herself tightly gripping Grandfather Crocker's hand.

"Hello, Rose." Murmured Jake in a soft tenor. She was shaken, moving backwards as Grandfather Crocker stepped in front of her.

"That's not Jake," she hissed.

"No," Grandfather Crocker said, solemn and terrible in a way Rue had always said portended ill for all involved. "It is an intruder."

Jake licked his lips on the bed. "I once gave a... Woman... Great opportunity for power. She took it." His eyes glazed slightly. "And now... This one has come again. Her permission still stands. Had he eyes, and were I not bound, he could move mountains and destroy galaxies. Entire spiral clusters. I would only need one of those conditions fulfilled to give it to him. But Rose, I am denied." He said, with palpable anguish that Rose might have found pitiful if it weren't coming from her very-clearly-sick very-obviously-possessed friend.

Clinging to Father Crocker, Rose waited.

"Denied." Jake rasped. "Oh Rose, what I would be able to do for you. I am omniscient, do not deny there are things still you desire desperately. We two immortals... Will you not release the ghost who fain guards you, and step into my parlor?"

Grandfather Crocker pushed her back a few steps towards the door. Even though she knew it was only by dint of Crocker's precautions that the intruder's influence could not extend, she felt like safety lay beyond the thin door.

"I am an excellent host." Jake—rather, the thing inside of him—assured her. As if that was what she was worried about.

Grandfather Crocker dissolved from her side and she was left reeling with a man-sized hole in her defenses. The angry light approached and she seized upon the beat of her heart, listening carefully for—

For Dave and Roxy, from whom she could sense warmth and Light—

Dave's hand landed on her shoulder, blazing hot, and she lunged for him, wrapping her arms around him and Roxy. She was dimly aware of the frozen sweat cracking off of her skin and eyelashes and that her teeth were chattering.

"That didn't go well." Dave said into her hair.

Rose wanted to slap him, but he was warm (I run hot. Hot enough for all the bitches to heat themselves up at the sheer furnace of my awesome) and she didn't want to pull back.

"What happened?" Roxy asked.

Mindlessly, Rose petted Roxy's curly hair. "House Crocker has a problem. It is- much bigger than they can handle. Or than I can handle. They need help. The stars only know why they haven’t asked for it yet."

"What is it?" Dave asked urgently, because, amorous ghosts pursuing him and the man he resembled aside, he adored John and Jade. They were his near-absolute best friends. Being close to dating Jade helped.

"Something's inside of Jake," she croaked. "Something big. Bad. It's not here, it's just sort of screwing with him from afar. It says it's trapped, but I think- I think it's not enough to just have it trapped. It’s too strong. Grandfather Crocker couldn’t hold it back, and I don’t know how much longer Jake can keep it contained."

 

Rhea

Rhea ghosted around her quarters, calmly maintaining eye contact with her nieces and nephews. Her black-tinted lips were pursed in a neutral expression.

“And this thing,” she said finally, “You’re certain that Crocker has no idea what it is or how to control it?”

“Well, yes.” Rose held out a hand. “Why would they allow it to remain unchecked within Jake’s body? Grandfather Crocker called it an intruder, but I do not believe he understood what it was aside from that definition—and it dissipated his avatar. It could not have done that if he understood what it was.”

Rhea deliberated a moment. “Rue?”

“Here.” She yawned. “I gotta go to bed, Rhi.”

“Rue, did that sound like anything you recognize?”

Rue paused. “Naaah. It sounded like something Light. But Rosie said it didn’t feel that way?”

“Not at all.” Rose grimaced. “I thought it was a Walker at first. It whispered, but it shone.”

“And that, in and of itself, concerns me.” Rhea admitted. “That does not sound like anything I have encountered prior. Hal?”

“No clue, Rhea-bea.” The red-lined avatar shrugged. “I’m not so great at the Light stuff, but you never had a thing like that for as long as I can remember. Or Dee.”

“Whatever it is, it wasn’t good.” Rose urged. “It very nearly penetrated my veils. If it weren’t for the bailout, I am certain that I would be dead.”

“And that’s why I don’t think we should get too close, Rosie.” Rue frowned. “Crocker’s done some weird shit in the past. I mean, you’ve seen Jadey. There’s just no way that wasn’t on purpose. And when they screwed with Jakey… why’d they keep going on that one? I was talking to Joanna, I know they knew there was something weird with the graft. It killed a bunch of them before they tried it on him. They had something they were looking for, so they kept going.”

“They kept going on Jake.” Dirk snapped. “You mean they got him to this state on purpose? They infected him with some hybrid light-dark thing on purpose? Something that _killed_ his House-siblings?”

“I don’t know.” Rue shrugged. “But Jakey was always pretty in-tune with things. Maybe they thought they could control it if it was in him? He was always pretty close to the Light side of energy.”

“You’re missing the point.” Roxy kicked her feet onto the table. “Jakey’s pretty good at handling himself, yeah. But if Crocker did this on purpose, they bit off waaaaaay more than they could chew. Rosie was freezing cold when she got back. That’s not something a Walker can do normally.”

“No, it isn’t.” Rhea agreed. “And I would have thought that if Crocker knew something was wrong or out of control, they’d ask for help. From me, if not from the entire House. But instead, they’ve grown gradually more and more reticent. That doesn’t equate them struggling to contain problems or to solve them. They see no dishonor or weakness in asking for assistance.”

Dave grunted and sank into his chair. Rhea smiled. Of course, that embarrassed Dave. He had been flustered the first few times Jade and John had asked his assistance, and it still gave him pause that they saw very little intimacy in the act of giving or receiving assistance.

On the other hand, it made their lack of petition all the more worrying. If they were Lalondes, Rhea could accept their standoffishness. They simply didn’t see her with the same level of intimacy with which she regarded them, which was unfortunately common. But they weren’t Lalondes, and the only reason they would refrain from asking for help was if they honestly, completely distrusted her.

Which was concerning. Her years as Jonathan’s moirail were very, very over, even if she occasionally spoke to him in the Light. It was clear he still adored her, but they both accepted that she had a greater need for a hand and an anchor among the living than he had need of one within the Light. They still trusted each other intimately when they spoke, and Zhayd had been equal to him in their trust.

It seemed now that he and the rest of Crocker had a split in ideology. Jonathan still trusted and confided in Lalonde, telling them of Jake’s condition when no one else would, but their overall reluctance was not in line with his actions.

More to the point, she knew that as much as Dave and Rose and Roxy were close to the three healthier members of Crocker, they seemed to somehow stand apart. Jade and Dave had become very close, to the point where Rhea had been certain she’d be arbitrating a wedding within very little time. John, she knew, loved those three in equal measure. Jane treated Roxy as her closest confidant and loved her as her dearest friend.

The sudden loss of trust and transparency was uncomfortable, and very likely had something to do with Jake.

She realized that she had been pacing around the room, skirts billowing behind her, as the rest of its occupants watched. “Dirk, do you remember the last time you spoke with Jake?”

“Yes.” Dirk closed his eyes briefly. “He was angry with me.”

“Why?” she pressed. He and Jake had been inseparable. She recalled the argument and sudden disappearance of friendship as a shock, but she’d never asked why.

“I got the passcodes to be able to go into the mechanics lab where he worked on robotics. He didn’t like that. I got the feeling that he’d been frustrated with…with me. With how clingy I was.”

“Do you think there was merit to his anger?”

“Yeah.” Dirk shrugged his shoulders in on himself uncomfortably. “It was completely my fault. I was being kind of clingy. I didn’t like being away from him, you know, I really liked him and I think I got too into that. He liked being alone. And I didn’t totally respect that. I kind of forced him to be with me a lot, and I think the passcodes were the last straw. That was the only place I couldn’t get into without his permission, and I sort of took that away from him.”

Rhea sighed. “So we cannot be certain that Jake stopped speaking with you entirely because of his condition. We cannot pinpoint the time at which this thing took control of him.”

“No.” Dirk groaned. “I was such an idiot. I thought it’d be okay, that he’d get over it or something, and it just. Never clicked with me that it might not be.”

“It’s fine, Dirk.” Rhea reassured. “Dave? You speak with John and Jade regularly, do you not?”

“Yeah.” Dave shifted. “A lot. Not so much recently. They’re coming of age and all.”

“Do you know who is in line to take control?” Rhea asked, and cursed silently when they simultaneously turned to her in confusion. She held up a hand to forestall questions. Damn Crocker’s ridiculous opacity with their social codes and language! “Crocker has a highly regimented family hierarchy. Of course Father Crocker is in control currently, but his successor must be among the three remaining.”

“It might be Jane?” Dave shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t speak Crocker.”

Kneading the bridge of her nose, Rhea turned to him. “Anything you can think of in conjunction with this?”

“John’s been getting really into biotech recently.” He flopped a wrist in Rue and Roxy’s direction. “Not like you guys. Like, with human biotech. He was talking about posthumanism. Like how different he was, genetically, from the rest of us. About how Crocker House modified itself to live underwater, and how their lungs could collapse and reflate. And about how they developed transgenic therapy that could alter the whole of the body all at once.”

Rhea let a breath out between her teeth. “And that might be our key to why Jake’s condition changed so abruptly.”

“John wouldn’t.” Dave sat straight to glare around at everyone. “Hell no. John’s stupid nice. Like, really stupid nice.”

“He is.” Roxy backed him up. “It’s cavity-niceness.”

Rose nodded reluctantly. “I really don’t think that could be the cause of Jake’s condition. John really is one of the kindest, most… ridiculous people I’ve known.”

Rue propped herself up on her elbows. “Ya know, that’s what everyone said ‘bout Jonathan.”

“What?” Dirk asked.

“Everyone who knew him.” Rue shrugged. “Even me. ‘He’s stupid nice’, ‘he couldn’t hurt a fly if he put his mind to it’... You never knew him when he was young. He was like…like… an angel. A ridiculous weird lil’ angel. I dated him, you know.” She finished, staring into space contemplatively. “Wow, he was crazy as a kingsnake.”

Rhea thought. She’d forgotten that. Jonathan had been considered one of the kindest of his House, kinder and more harmless than either Joanna or Zhayd. She remembered him bringing Rue flowers and wooing her.

“Then John—”

“Wouldn’t do that!” Dave growled. “You’re equating them. If you remember, Grandfather Crocker is genetically John’s uncle, not him! They’re not the same person.”

Rhea put her head in her hands. “Dave, they’re not the same person, but there are definitely similarities, and you haven’t spoken to him in a while. He might well have changed dramatically after he was relocked.”

Dave crossed his arms firmly. “No. Look, play your psychoanalysis bullshit, accuse John all you want, but it’s not going to be true. That’s a _fact._ ”

“Dave, your treatment of John as above all ill disturbs me. He is not infallible.” Rose patted him on the arm.

Rhea held up a hand when they all began to talk at once and waited for them to notice her and fall silent. “Regardless of how we feel about John, the fact remains that however improbable, it is possible, and that Jake is in a troubled situation.”

Dirk straightened up. “Aunt,” Roxy started.

“Regardless!” Rhea pointed at Roxy. “Regardless of that, it is _not our business._ They have not asked for our help and we have no ties to the people who are endangered by this, no matter our history with them. We have no right to interfere.”

“We need to do something.” Dirk hissed. “We can’t just sit back. Jake will _die._ ”

“And if he dies, we can request an investigation. I am not willing to risk whatever goodwill Crocker maintains for us. We cannot yet do anything.”

“Do you think they’ll actually let us know if he dies? No one’s seen him for years. He could die and no one would know.”

Rhea looked down at Dirk. He was right, of course. Jake’s lack of appearance had garnered questions initially, but he had already isolated himself substantially prior to that. His gradual disappearance had forestalled most concern. His death wouldn’t disrupt any patterns whatsoever. The only way Lalonde would know would be from the Light. Which they weren’t supposed to use to spy on Crocker.

“Allow me to amend that.” Rhea met Dirk’s eyes, expression severe. “I am not willing to risk the goodwill of the other Houses, of the Reunion, and infringing the treaty. I am willing to sacrifice Jake Crocker’s health for the health of the House. And if sacrificing his health becomes sacrificing his life? So be it.”

Dirk’s face was smooth and expressionless, betraying his intent to do something impetuous. Rhea cursed him inwardly.

“I’m ending this now. Rest assured, I will speak with the Light about this… this thing in Jake Crocker. Rue, get some sleep. Rose, Dave, Roxy, Dirk, you as well. Recall that we will soon be departing for the Reunion.” Not giving them a chance to respond, she left. While she hoped that Dirk wouldn’t do anything stupid, it wouldn’t do to not take precautions.

Sollux

After having free reign of Orphaner’s terrifying bulk for so long, Eridan’s small ship felt uncomfortably cramped. Eridan had no such feelings. He had an organic connection with the _Aquarium_ , organic and entirely alien to Sollux. From what he understood and could dimly sense, it made the _Aquarium_ essentially an extension of his body; he felt everything the ship did and its systems were little more than extra limbs and muscles for Eridan to flex.

That didn’t stop Sollux from complaining.

“We could have taken the _Caligula_ , that’s bigger, but noo, it had to be the _Aquarium,_ with barely enough room to bat an eyelash—”

“An eyelash?” Eridan asked, derailing Sollux.

“It’s a Calliopaean saying.” Sollux dismissed it. “A small movement. Anyways, this ship is _tiny._ ”

“All the faster and more maneuverable,” Eridan said. His annoyance stung a little, but Sollux huffed to cover it up.

“You’re saying that like we’re flying into a combat situation.”

“We’re not?”

“No! There’s been no war between greenshifters and redshifters since the early times of their exploration. Why would there be one now?” he ran through possible reasons for a conflict and came up empty. “Aside from how aggressive some of the Houses can get, short of an inter-planetary incident there won’t be a conflict. Not so close to Reunion.”

Eridan was quiet.

“ _Say_ something,” Sollux demanded, frustrated.

Eridan shook his head, slowly. “Sol,” he said. “I have something to show you.”

“Oh, go ahead, don’t answer my question and be cagey.” Sollux growled, baring his newborn-sharp fangs.

“Shut up,” Eridan said, still oddly subdued. He stood, dusting his hands off on his pants and extending a hand. “This way.”

Sollux got up to follow, despite his urge to the contrary. He’d never pass by a chance to see more of Eridan’s mind, as chock-full of information as it was. “What is it?”

“You gotta promise me something, Sol,” Eridan said.

“What?”

“Never tell anyone about this. Never even _imply_ it.” The intensity in Eridan’s voice, and in his eyes, brought Sollux up short.

“Eridan, what is it?”

“Promise.” Eridan’s little fins snapped up around his face in a gesture of threat. It was entirely for show—Eridan’s _basic coding_ forbade him to delete data, and that was all that Sollux was, but it was still mildly terrifying.

“Alright, alright. Fuck off. What is it?”

Eridan didn’t say anything, the dramatic motherfucker. Instead, he opened the door to Sollux’s ‘room’ and waved him through. Sollux scowled, stuck out his tongue, and exited, finding himself again in that eerie corridor, though this time it wasn’t lined with snakes. Instead, it was bare, sterile, with a row of lights in each edge of the corridor that led down in one direction, stretching off into what looked like infinity.

“This way.” Eridan strode down the corridor. Sollux stumbled in his hurry to catch up.

“Okay, so I’d never thought to ask before,” he said, trying to get Eridan to look at him, “But was your mind always like this? With the, the air and the buildings and the lights?”

“Of course not.” Eridan snorted. “I created a lot of this purely for your benefit.”

“Oh.” Sollux mulled over a proper response to that. “Well, thanks.”

“Don’t go fallin’ over yourself with gratitude or nothin’,” Eridan drawled, but his strain was palpable under it all. “Here.”

“Where?” Sollux looked around, up, down, and then repeated the whole cycle. They’d stopped in a nondescript part of the corridor, no different from anywhere else, and Eridan had his hands on his hips, brow furrowed.

“Here.” Eridan bent over gracefully to lay a finger on the wall and traced it up, leaving behind a fine white line. As his hand rose, he twirled it in odd, organic patterns which burned into the wall, creating a furrow. Eridan stopped a meter or so shy of the ceiling and stepped back with a satisfied sound.

Sollux opened his mouth to ask what in the hell that was about, but his voice left him when the furrow deepened and the stone simply crumbled, creating a tiny passageway. “The fuck,” he said.

“C’mon, through,” Eridan said impatiently, getting to his knees and crawling through. Baffled, Sollux followed, scraping his horns on the top of the tunnel in painful drags. He swore several times, annoyance mitigated only by how Eridan was undoubtedly suffering the same as he.

It was dark, which meant he didn’t notice that they were approaching the exit until his head poked out into a similarly dark room, where he got to his feet slowly. “Where is this?”

“Don’t look,” Eridan said, which made _no_ sense, “Listen.”

Sollux decided to humor him and closed his eyes against the darkness to listen.

At first, he heard nothing but his own breathing, but slowly, that faded away. He became aware that it was a fantasy, that he had no need of breath, that there was no room, no darkness; he began to sense what Eridan’s body felt, the odd lukewarm fluid that surrounded him; and it was then, when he knew what was real and what was not, that he started to hear what Eridan meant him to hear.

“Oh shit,” he said, or thought he said. He didn’t know; it was all totally drowned out by the sound of something like an ocean or an orchestra or _wow_ was that ever loud.

The sound didn’t mute, but he felt and saw and heard a thought from Eridan, in the most bizarre muddle of senses he’d ever experienced, one which said very simply _this is the Undercurrent._

It took him a bit to master the art of speaking in this way, but once he had it, he replied quickly. _The who what now?_

_Undercurrent,_ Eridan said patiently. _What lies beneath everything. The river which is everything, from stars to planets to people. That’s what you’re hearing._

_What does that mean?_

_Have you ever walked the Light?_

_No._

_Goddammit. Well, this is kind of like it. The world is… the universe is a river. We’re just drops of water, if that. I’m a Listener, someone who can hear the song of the Undercurrent and understand it. Here, let me show you…_

Sollux had the distinct feeling of someone taking his attention and moving it to place it squarely on a single spot, to hear a single tune. It sounded familiar, something like…

_That’s Aradia,_ he thought, startled.

_Yeah. See if you can find your brother, or someone else._

Sollux did, combing through the melodies and harmonies with slow-rising delight. _Here_ , this was Damara; this was Terezi, and here were Karkat and Kankri, blaring like airhorns, and here was _Hellmurder Island_ and on it were—

Something was off. Something was deeply strange aboard Hellmurder Island. Eridan sensed the shift in his attention. _Sol, what’s up?_

_See, do you hear this?_

Eridan went silent for a while, then made a sharp ‘noise’ of distress. _What is that?_

_I wouldn’t be asking you if I knew._

_It’s not right. Not human._ Eridan stopped, mind whirring—which, wow, Sollux could hear that. _It isn’t Jade Crocker. Not by a long shot. No, this is…I haven’t heard this in, what, I’ve never heard it, Dad has. So long ago. But it’s impossible._

_A little context here?_ Sollux jabbed at him irritably.

_It’s a Carapacian Queen._

Shock punched Sollux in the gut. _I thought they were extinct!_

_I thought so too. But this, it’s wrong. It isn’t really carapacian either. Not just human, though there’s something else besides both of those._

Sollux combed through the people who were potentially aboard Hellmurder Island. _Aradia,_ he ticked off, _Mituna and Damara maybe, Father Crocker, Jane, Jade, John, and Jake—_

_Who’s Jake?_

_Another splice. But he isn’t like Jade. He never showed any kinds of effects._

_I think he’s showing more than just a couple of effects._ Eridan scrutinized the song that was somehow Jake. _If only I knew what that extra bit was…_

Sollux couldn’t believe he was offering this, but… _Could there be something in my memories that would help?_

Eridan hesitated. _I don’t think so. If I don’t remember it, and Dad doesn’t—the chances that you’d know are—oh! Fuck! We’re screwed!_

_What? Did you figure it out?_

_He’s a Listener! No, not just a Listener, he’s—oh fucking fuck. He’s a Singer._

_Definition, please, fishdick._ Sollux scowled at Eridan’s flick of irritability. _Excuse me for not being a weird immortal databank like you._

_Quasi-immortal,_ Eridan corrected. _I’m a Listener. All Curators are. It lets us, ah, keep a better eye on things. Singers aren’t just observers, though, they’re meddlers._

_Clear as mud. Like Seers and Walkers?_

_A bit. But this, this thing you’re listening to now, you’re borrowing my abilities as a Listener. But Jake, he doesn’t just Listen, he—_

_Sings. Oh. We’re fucked._ Sollux came to the same conclusion Eridan had, shuddering. _Was that the extra bit?_

_No. It was a bonus._ The inflection Eridan put on the word let Sollux know exactly what he thought of that ‘bonus’. _But hell, if you think you can identify it where I can’t, knock yourself out._

_Don’t mind if I do,_ Sollux sniped back. He leaned in to the green-gold sound that was Jake Crocker. That bass note, there—

_His humanity,_ Eridan provided.

The weird, buzzing, fluting melody, so gentle and lonely—

_Carapacian._

An odd, reverent glow about him, somehow a sound, like a choir of angels without voices—

_\--means he’s a Singer. Also? Don’t mention angels again._

_Don’t like them?_

_No. They’re—just don’t mention them._

There, that had to be the ‘extra’. Raw, bright, electronic, so deeply intertwined with the Carapacian melody it was almost like they’d come together. It was both a deep blue like a Zahhak’s blood and a bright green like Sopor.

Like Sopor. Like Jade. Like, like a green cherub, but dark, like—

_Like Scratch._ He ‘said’ ‘aloud’, jumping at Eridan’s violent, jackknifing jerk.

_Sonuva—that bastard! Of course he found someone else to get his hooks into._

_And of course it had to be a Crocker,_ Sollux thought mournfully. No wonder they’d retreated so deeply. No wonder they’d selected Captors and Megidos for their mission, and specifically who they had. They understood just how much of a deadweight Mituna was on Captor, and how much Damara was for Megido.

_But if that’s true,_ Sollux realized, _then we’re_ really _fucked._

_Scratch has control over a Singer._ Eridan swore, creatively. _We have to—what are they doing?_

Jake was moving, Jade and John bringing him somewhere, to another ship. They were going on a mission. They were taking Jake into space in a meteorically fast tin can of a spaceship.

_Oh._ Sollux was horrified. _Oh, shit._

_We have to stop them,_ Eridan told him darkly. _We have to do something—_

_Of course we do._ Sollux thought. _We’re already headed their way. Maybe we can intercept, or something._

_Find out what they think they’re doing,_ Eridan agreed.

_And if worst comes to worst?_

_Fuck if I know,_ Eridan replied. _We get drunk and hope we don’t notice ‘til we’re dead._


	2. Burns and Bridges

Chapter 5

 

John

John's expression grew grim as each strap, pack of gel, and brace began to fit as they were supposed to. Nobody had maintained the equipment in a while, and while it didn't show so much, it brought into sharp relief how dangerous what they were about to do was.

How dangerous, and how _necessary._

The talk with Aradia had changed a lot of things—too many things. Under duress, she had described the map she’d seen on the strange ship, the pink warning blotches that were the Precursor artifacts. They’d known already that what had killed Joey and Jude was one of those, but the bright color limned in green meant something further.

Something further—something that could save Jake’s life, and maybe even his mind.

Jade, where she stood to the left, was buckling her set on. Dave, hovering a little around them, kept trying to help.

John didn't blame him. What they were about to do was unfathomable for a Lalonde. The only people not Crockers who had ever survived... John shook their head, smiling at Dave when he flinched.

"We'll be fine!" Jade exclaimed, rolling her 'eyes'. "Just some work with Captor."

To John's surprise, that brought Dave's fidgeting to a complete stop. Rose's face hardened.

Speaking of Rose, she hadn't so much as spoken to John when not prompted. When she had, it had been with syrupy venom and a tone she normally reserved for her Housemother. John was worried, and even more so when her eyes glazed over with the Light, obviously speaking with John’s clone-source. Rose had never held much love for Poppop, so why now?

John ‘met’ Dave's eyes and Dave jerked his gaze away, scowling. John flinched a little, wincing at Jade's sidelong look.

"What did you do?" She messaged.

"I wish I knew! I don't know what I did and I'm not getting any clues!"

John bit their lip and glanced around, for the first time around the Lalondes wanting to take the goggles off. It wouldn't do any good, of course; Rose would simply transfer her venom into soft sniffs of derision and breathing patterns she knew John would recognize.

Choosing to bite the bullet, John turned the vision function on the goggles off. It wouldn't alter how they looked from the outside or limit the ability to perceive anyone’s actions (John felt, rather than saw, Jade's sharp shift in attention, her response to this action), but they would offer some measure of protection, if only psychosomatic. John approached Rose with trepidation.

She noticed. "Ah, John! I haven't spoken to you in a while." Not long enough, judging by her tone. John flinched, hoping she felt some measure of guilt at the discomfort she was causing.

Look at yourself, John thought furiously. Why are you playing games with Rose? Since when was she an opponent? She and Dave? When had they changed from friends—or something to that effect—to something else? To something dangerous?

Rose was still waiting for something. "How's Poppop?" John blurted.

That took her aback. "Who?" She asked, momentarily derailed.

Silently, John swore again. Lalonde didn't know that Poppop had been alive after John was cloned. Or that he'd cared for a handful of clones on his own, primarily for John. Taken that, she didn’t know that John was Poppop’s clone, not Dad’s.

"Grandfather," John clarified in a small voice. "Is he doing okay in the Light?"

Rose was still and quiet long enough that he worried, but Jade reassured John quickly that she had just gone into the Light.

"I didn't know you knew him," she said slowly. Rose didn't sound happy. John rocked from heel to toe, quietly certain that Dave was staring at them.

"He took care of me when I was locked at five," John confessed. "I haven't seen him since he decided to be in the Light instead of in the physical world."

"I thought-" Rose fell silent. "Do you have any concrete memories of him?"

Toying with Poppop’s fingers. Blurry images of a mustache and goggles. John had just gotten his first pair then. John'd been left alone long enough to echolocate, like Poppop and the Housechildren had. Poppop had helped John develop it further.

"He taught me how to see without the goggles," John said without thinking, and then froze, beginning to stammer. "I mean, like..."

Secrets. Crocker kept the echolocation secret. It was not widely publicized, the phenomenon, and Crocker preferred it that way.

"See without goggles," Rose repeated. John had the terrible feeling that this was doing the exact opposite of earning back her trust.

"Yes. No? It's, uh..." John made a wordless growl of frustration and heard Rose sigh.

"John, turn your eyes back on and explain."

"No," John replied petulantly, deciding that secrets sucked dicks. _Sorry, dad._ "I can't explain with them on."

"Then explain with them off!"

Reaching up, wobbly, John found her face and patted over it. Her eyelids twitched. "Let me access?"

"Why?"

"I can make you..." John thought, seeking words. "I can give you thoughts? Imitate brain patterns. Show you how to see." God, but Standard grammar was stupid and useless.

Rose took John’s hands away from her face roughly. "Fine. You know the way."

She had deactivated the security on her implants rather that tell John the password. They used to have each other’s passwords. They used to talk every day that way. Biting back a complaint, John took what was offered.

"Okay. Your vision might get a little blurry." With effort, John accessed her occipital implants and joined theirs together. Rose hissed, her hands tightening convulsively.

"Tell me before you do that! You’re blind, remember?”

"Sorry. Now can you focus on sounds?"

She grunted assent.

John crafted a stimulus bridge, sharing the sounds they heard, raised a hand to between them, and snapped. A detailed image crafted of Rose's face in shaped relief appeared to John, just as Rose would be seeing an image of John’s own face in her head.

Rose went rigid. "Echolocation. You can echolocate. Grandfather Crocker taught you?"

"Yes," John said miserably. "Don't say it so loud? I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

She patted his cheeks. "Turn my vision back on?"

John tweaked and held her hands until she relaxed. Not waiting for a request, John ducked back inside of Hellmurder and out of Rose’s implants.

"Can everyone in your family do that?"

"All of us, yes."

The silence was unbearable, so John clicked and tried to read her face. If only John could smellsee like Terezi. Humans were so limited. To see color like Terezi could, and for her to see depth and detail.

Infinity, John missed Terezi. That pitchfight she’d promised had better be soon. It would distract John from everything, and, selfishly, the distraction was badly needed.

“Echolocation, and Poppop lived for the second batch of clones as well as the first.” Rose counted off. “Anything else Crocker’s been keeping secret that Lalonde should know about?”

Lalonde. Not Rose herself. Which meant that Rose wasn’t going to keep the echolocation secret. John’s heart dropped to the floor. Something obviously showed, because Rose groaned.

“Never mind. Get going on your mission, John. Have fun with your work.”

_There’s a lot more you don’t know,_ John wanted to say, to end it right there and explain it all. _But I’d die if I told you, and Jane and Jade and Dad and Jake especially._

John bit their tongue nearly to the point of drawing blood. “Wait wait. Um, tell your mother? That I don’t know. I think Jane’s going to be the only one who can go to the Ten Thousand Reunion.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

“What the fuck, John?” Dave asked. Hastily, John turned the goggles back on, line of sight darting from Rose’s frozen expression (which did not bode well) to Dave’s flushed-cheeked fury. “Since when? I thought you and Jade were the healthiest fucking members—you were gonna weave your strands in and everything!” he gesticulated wildly, pointing accusatorily at John. “What’s so important about Captor that you gotta miss the Reunion? It’ll be your first time!”

Aaaaaaand nope. John was done. Dave and Rose didn’t get to ignore them, be mad at them, demand answers, try to give John and Jade and everyone the silent treatment, and then turn right back around ‘cause of the _Ten Thousand Reunion_. Much less ‘cause they were worried Crocker’s strands wouldn’t be put in. John tried to put a biting softness Poppop or Nanna would be proud of into their words.

“I’m sorry. If it goes well, we should be able to send back a cache with our strands.” John didn’t need to look at Jade to know she was standing still and making eye contact with the Lalondes, insofar as she could, not flinching. “Don’t worry, they’ll enter.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about—what do you think of me? What’s going to keep you away?”

We’re all wearing glasses, John mused. Lalondes, too sensitive to light by far, wore sunglasses. Crockers, blind by nature, wore their goggles. Eyes are the windows to the soul, one of the redshifters had said once, idling in wait for permission to enter Crocker space. John had always thought that was flawed in how it applied; clearly, the Crockers had souls, no?

Nah. Either they didn’t, or they just didn’t know how. If no one can see your soul, what good is it? Not much of a soul. There was some sort of irony in there. Dave might appreciate it at a different time.

“The mission,” John said, layering the two words with just enough ice to make clear that a talk about specifics wasn’t welcome. John smiled at Dave, trying to appear blithely unconcerned. Fuck them. John and Jade had learned how to be passive-aggressive from Rose. She couldn’t out-passive-aggressive either of them.

Rose frowned deeply. “Captor’s homeworld isn’t too far away from the Ten Thousand Belt. Why would you two not be able to attend?”

Their first reaction finally registered with John. They didn’t question Jake’s lack of attendance. Someone had been telling tales. John felt leaden—it had to be Poppop. How much had he told Rose? Awfully convenient, to have an entity of Light who only Rose could talk to living in their home base.

“Our selves _and Jake_ will be unfortunately caught up in some work. We won’t be able to finish in time.” John smiled goofily, the perfect happy-go-lucky doofus, and tightened an errant strap. The starburst on the abdomen of the suit finally balanced. The reinforcers on John knees and elbows tightened, sensing the suit’s completion.

Rose bit the inside of her cheek, visibly containing her anger. “But why? What will you be doing?”

“Working with a few Captor House members.” John decided, with a burst of spite, to be merciful (or maybe cruel; John couldn’t really decipher what it was they wanted to do anymore) and give them a tid bit. “We’re working on a security issue with Dead space. Same place Joey and Jude went before.”

Dave’s eyebrows lifted from behind his glasses. “Dude. No.”

“Dude. Yes.” John deadpanned. “It’ll take maybe sixty years, all told, most of it in real time. We’re locking ourselves before we go, don’t worry.”

“Dude, no.” Dave looked almost visibly worried now. Jade sent John a mild burst of near-satisfaction at it, compounded by fear and the same worry Dave had. “I know you weren’t there when Jude and Joey got hauled in, but Deadspace is a no-go, okay?”

“Really, Dave.” Jade broke in. “We’ll be fine. It’ll just take some time. Captor and Megido assured us they have it contained, anyways. They just need some biological and tech expertise!”

“Then they can take a Zahhak!” Dave snapped. “You’re two of five remaining Crockers! You can’t afford to die!”

“Don’t build our coffin yet, mister!” Jade snorted, wagging her finger at him reprovingly. “How many times do I need to tell you we’ll be fine?”

A thousand, John suspected, and even then it probably wouldn’t be enough. John smoothed some of the wrinkles out of the suit’s hips and straightened up with a bright smile. “Either way, you’ll have to make our apologies for us. Oh, and tell Roxy that Jake said hello, all right? He’s not doing so well—badly dehydrated, you know how he is—and he’s going with us. Shame he couldn’t be here.”

They didn’t know how Jake was. Crocker and Lalonde had grown painfully far apart as of late. Rose and Dave knew that. Equally, they knew that it was as much their own fault as Crocker’s.

“Fuck you,” Dave replied with uncharacteristic venom. “Don’t fucking patronize me. I’m not a little kid, John. Don’t fucking act like you don’t know there’s something up. Deadspace isn’t ever safe. Don’t make me drag Crocker corpses in outta there again.”

Jade frowned sympathetically and John wordlessly acknowledged her thought. They moved in on Dave from either side and hugged him, John looping an arm out to pull Rose into the hug.

“I know,” Jade said heavily, petting Dave on the head. “I saw Joey and Jude too. But this is gonna be—well, not safe. But we know what we’re getting into. And we have Tempest Crocker.”

Rose wrapped her arms around John’s torso, stooping to reach and squeezing tightly. “Do you really—is there anything dangerous there?”

Resting, chin on the top of her head, John thought. “I can’t think of anything off the top of my head.” That was a lie. She knew it was. “We’re going to be perfectly safe.” Another lie.

“John, stop.” Dave spoke up this time. “You’re going into Deadspace. You’re going to mess with something fucking ancient. No one really knows what they’re getting into with that shit. You’re going to die. I don’t want the last thing I say to you to be ‘fuck you too’.”

John groaned and wished for maybe a few centimeters more height, so Dave could just be scooped up and held safe away from any of his frustrations. Unrequited crushes! Platonic, most likely. Or romantic. Who knew. Who cared. It was unrequited no matter the color.

“Fine,” Jade said, low venom in her voice. “It’ll be ‘buzz off, this is House Crocker, I get that you’re worried but also we’re older than you? And House Captor is working with us.’”

John grabbed them all by the neck and hauled them down so their heads were level, smooshing them together. “Noooooo. We’re not going to leave fighting. Yeah, it’s dangerous! But we think we know what it is and what we’re doing. We can definitely do this, and we probably don’t need help.”

How-so-ever they’d found out about Jake…

“There are good reasons we haven’t asked for it,” John said softly, in a near whisper. “Please believe me. We don’t want any one to die.”

And okay, that sounded like a threat, but it wasn’t supposed to be one! John nearly piped up with something saying that it would be the Crockers, but stopped short. Dave and Rose tensed. Poppop was probably warning Rose to wall off her implants like whoa.

“Sorry.” John tacked on at a normal tone. John gave them a final squeeze, smiling when they held on just as tightly a moment after. “We’ll see you when we get back.”

Something in Dave’s expression said he doubted it. John ignored him and turned around, slipping on the cap that would cushion the back of their skull once submerged.

(they were too afraid of the ten thousand reunion, anyway.

Father Crocker

John and Jade, by now, had to be in the docking ring. They would have been joined by the Lalondes. The Lalondes would learn nothing, Father Crocker reasoned. Moments later, he clarified to himself: no one would learn anything by the encounter. Nothing that counted, anyhow.

They would be gone, but he still had the issue of his uncle. It was an uncertain betrayal that _taibo_ Jonathan had committed, one that bit into the back of his head and worried at him like teeth on a chapped lip.

More uncertain was how closely—how so very closely—the Lalondes had gotten to Hal and how deeply it had ingratiated itself and tucked itself into Lalonde’s tight-woven network. He knew that some still held it at arm’s length—Dirk and Roxy, most notably. Father Crocker praised Dirk inwardly. For all that the man was a budding thorn in his side, he had a healthy paranoia that Father Crocker respected.

How long would it take before it occurred to them that Crocker held no animosity? That they were still as open as ever with Dirk, with Roxy, alone of any of the Lalondes? It was Dirk who had exiled himself from their home, not them who had exiled him.

But for now, he waited and thought.

_Tiega_ Zhayd popped up before him, her body less wireframe and more realistic than she normally used. “Paul. The Lalondes have reached the docking bay.”

Father Crocker nodded. “They are there for a confrontation, or a simple fare-thee-well?”

“Confrontation,” _Tiega_ Zhayd sighed. “Paul, do you think we’re doing right by them?”

“Who?” Father Crocker asked.

_Tiega_ Zhayd rolled her eyes. “The Lalondes, my dear nephew.”

“I’m not sure.”

She shifted, leaning back against the deck, a simple programmed affectation that only made him miss his family more, her image flowing like water until she wore a bare minimum, a more comfortable look that Father Crocker envied. “They worry me. Jonathan’s speaking with them worries me. They are neither immune nor uninfected.”

“Facts I hope _taibo_ Jonathan has kept in mind.”

“I doubt it.” _Tiega_ Zhayd said. “He’s not known for caution.”

“No, he isn’t, now is he?” Father Crocker chuckled and shook his head, sitting down heavily in one of his chairs. “I pray that he has taken pains to prevent it from hearing him.”

“That, I don’t doubt that he’s done. Jonathan was—and is—the most paranoid among us, after all.” _Tiega_ Zhayd paused, nervous, and glanced around. “Save _him,_ of course.”

“Save _him,_ ” Father Crocker agreed. “But _he_ isn’t here anymore.”

“Neither am I, Paul.” She said, almost a whisper, full of pain. “And neither is Joanna. And Jonathan may as well be dead.”

“You needn’t worry. We have John, after all.”

“Will John be able to shoulder the responsibility?” _Tiega_ Zhayd asked. “No, first: you already gave the instructions for them to take control?”

“I’ve had my concerns about _taibo_ Jonathan for a while, _tiega._ It took me a while to complete all preparations, but here we are. I gave the instructions to Jade a few hours ago. John doesn’t yet know.”

“They won’t be happy with you.”

“No, they won’t.” Father Crocker agreed, voice soft. “But I don’t believe it’ll matter that much for that much longer.”

“What?” _Tiega_ Zhayd asked. “Why not?”

Father Crocker shook his head. “Later, _tiega._ When we know all of what we are doing and will do.”

_Tiega_ Zhayd eyed him with suspicion, but let it go. “Paul, they are arguing.”

“Have things come to blows?”

“No, but Jade and John are furious. Rose and Dave are not much better.” _Tiega_ Zhayd clucked her tongue. “Should I intervene?”

“Your choice, _tiega._ ”

“I won’t, then. A good argument clears the air.”

“Or muddies it further.” Father Crocker said. He paused for thought, imagining what they could be arguing about. “Oh, _tiega_ , I am so worried. The Lalondes would have proved invaluable with their help if only they would listen and understand.”

“Their value is precisely why we cannot make them listen and understand,” Zhayd sighed. “There was only ever one who would listen.”

“And he was forced.”

“And not happy about it, either.”

“Does Jonathan still hate him?”

“Insofar as I know? Yes.” The last thing Jonathan had said about Dietrich Lalonde, icy and furious and unforgiving, still echoed in Father Crocker’s head. “He’ll never forgive Dietrich for taking _him_ away from us.”

“Even if _he_ never really left?” _Tiega_ Zhayd snorted. “Will Jonathan ever stop being childish?”

“Short answer? No.” Father Crocker chose to elaborate after a stale moment. “Longer answer: who knows? It could be that John’s ascension will force him to consider things more deeply, or that as things approach crisis levels he will relax about that old hatred. Equally, however, it might make him feel freed to be yet more petulant and annoyed.”

“Of course. Classic Jonathan.” _Tiega_ Zhayd grumbled. “Can’t hear more than a foot away from his head.”

“Particularly not when Dietrich is involved.”

“Truthfully, I can’t forgive Dietrich myself.” _Tiega_ Zhayd said, candid and uncomfortable. “It’s nonsensical, of course, but—there’s something, I’m not certain what, that angers me about his involvement in everything. It’s as though—” here she hesitated, seemed to ponder her next words. “—as though he were partially responsible. For. You know, _that._ ”

Father Crocker sympathized, not only with her frustration but also her inability to relax, to truly speak her minds. A lifetime of keeping certain secrets made it nearly impossible to do so, even when alone and unmonitored, even when only with those well and truly in the know. She was embarrassed, agonized, and humiliated by their past. While no one could claim differently of their own family, Father Crocker knew that Crocker’s past was more horrific and nightmarish than most, fitted to the strange and alien shape into which they’d molded their bodies.

“I understand. It’s hard for me as well, even knowing what I do.” He turned back to the panel. “What’s happening down there now?”

“Hugging it out. I don’t think it’s working.” _Tiega_ Zhayd wrinkled her nose. “Definitely not working.”

“Wonderful.” Father Crocker hadn’t expected miracles, but he had hoped that they’d leave with less animosity than that with which they’d come. “Was there any progress?”

“Backwards. Dave and Rose misunderstood some of what was said and I doubt it will work to our advantage.” With a quiet sigh, she started to fade out. “I’m going to run around the ship. Check on Jake. You know. I don’t particularly care to watch the social disaster that is my grandchildren unfold.”

“And I’m part of that?” Father Crocker asked, half-joking, half-serious.

“No, you’re just far too serious for my tastes.” _Tiega_ Zhayd laughed at him and waved it off. “Paul, take care of yourself. I’ll speak to you later.”

“I await the occasion,” Father Crocker said as she winked out.

It would never arrive, he did not say.

Rose

Rose stood next to Dave as John and Jade left the corridor. Grandfather Crocker hovered next to her, semi-translucent.

“Jake’s on the ship too.” Grandfather Crocker informed her. Rose nodded, spine rigid.

“He threatened us,” Dave said, disbelievingly. “He actually threatened us. What the fuck is so important that he’d—why?”

“It wasn’t a threat.” Grandfather Crocker corrected him. “Alas, you cannot understand.”

Rose turned to Grandfather Crocker. “What does _that_ mean? And you cared for him? When the second batch came out? Why him?”

“That is.” He bit his lip. “I don’t know if I can tell you. No, I shall. You deserve to know. Lalonde should, anyhow. We don’t need any loose cannons.”

Rose waited. Grandfather Crocker deliberated, tugging at his gloves, pulling them off and shrugging them back on. Finally, he nodded decisively.

“House Crocker was intended to function as its own autonomous unit. In the case of any urgent need, we designed ourselves to be capable of independent existence, a life on the run, able to function without any help.”

Rose relayed that to Dave. She wished she could feel more surprised.

“As such, we needed a leader.” Grandfather Crocker took his goggles off and massaged his face. “That was supposed to be me, or Joanna, but then Joanna died. Zhayd had serious reservations about my leadership, and I suppose, that as my twin, she knew me best. I was raised by trolls—and more than that, I was raised like a high blood fighter. They thought I was too violent, too… too. It didn’t help that I had trouble settling down, fell in love at the drop of a hat. But I was, as they say, a natural-born leader. Don’t look at me like that. I’m well aware of my faults and virtues. It’s your Housefather who had trouble with that. ‘Be to his virtues very kind, to his faults a little blind’. Dietrich. Poor fool. Light rest him well, although I doubt it.”

“So?” Rose prompted.

“Well, they cloned me alone. Without any modifications.” He shrugged blithely. “John and Jon, see, they added a letter. Protect them at all costs. They're the future of the House and all that. I was redundant after that happened. Oh, don’t look worried. I did that on purpose. They've still got the same genetic make up, though.”

“John’s not.” Dave interrupted. “He’s not like you, though—can he hear me, Rose? You were kind of batshit, no offense, and John like actually feels fucking pain. And he doesn’t go after anything breathing like a horndog.”

Grandfather Crocker raised an eyebrow. “And yet. The line between love and friend ship is particularly thin for us. Not quite non-existent, and yet. Has John, in your living memory, fallen in love with someone? Held them above all others, like their _amā_?”

“No.” Rose frowned in the direction John had walked off in. “You two…that’s why you raised him? Because he is you?”

“And because a leader must be willing to make horrible decisions.” Grandfather Crocker said apologetically. “The ordinary care of the Housemembers—with your computers and Palatial—would take John down a very different path to maturity. I was able to simulate some of my experiences. I taught John, and they assisted in teaching the others. Some took to it better than others. Jude, for example, had mild hearing loss and struggled with it. And Jake… Jake has his own problems. He always needed a minder in his youth.”

“So he was lying,” Rose concluded. “Jake can’t.”

“John did not lie.” Grandfather Crocker frowned at her. “They have been groomed from a young age to be a leader. That was part of their training. The other clones were influenced in their growth to defer to them subconsciously. Jade and Jake; well, they were the variables. As it is, I am glad we did not attempt to influence any more of our genetics as we did Jake’s.” He sighed. “It is, in all honesty, unfortunate that they were one of the ones to survive. If it were up to me—and I wonder if John has not been tempted, as they are, in essence, me—I would put Jake out of his misery. He cannot enjoy life in this condition.”

“Survive.” Rose’s focus sharpened. “Survive what?”

“Oh dear.” Grandfather Crocker’s face twisted. “I should not have said that, no? I’m sorry, Rose. I can not speak about that.”

“You can’t—what? I thought you hated secrets as much as I do!” Rose was peeved, to understate things a little. She was incensed, to state things more plainly. “What is wrong with you? We don’t keep secrets! Any secrets!”

Dave leaned in. “Is someone going to sabotage them?” he asked in low, urgent tones. “Is someone going to try to kill them?”

“I can’t say.” Grandfather Crocker admitted reluctantly. “I really… I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Don’t you run away!” Rose hissed, lunging at him. “Don’t you dare!”

He puffed into a spray of gold and blue dust. Rose stared after him, extending her vision as far as she could.

“Crockers!” she shouted, a complaint to the world at large and about John and Grandfather in particular.

Dave, perhaps sensing that now was not the time to interrogate her, simply took her hand and put his arm around her shoulders to lead her out.

 

Terezi

Terezi had always had a ‘sixth sense’, as it were, as to when her friends and family were in trouble. She’d known when Vriska had stuck her nose in and gotten Aradia killed. She’d known back when the explosion on one of the transport ships happened and John nearly died, and when Joey and Jude had died out in Deadspace.

This sixth sense came to her now, sharply, as she puttered around in GC. She felt like Sollux and John both could be in trouble; and then also Aradia, and perhaps others as well. Normally she shook such a feeling off and called her friends later on, just to check in, because almost always it was something unavoidable. Something about this nagged at her, though, and she felt uneasy, like whether or not she could stop it she had to do something regardless.

She tried to contact John again, waiting painfully for his response and swearing when he didn’t answer. She tried to call Karkat, but received the standard message he left when he was out on House business. She called Sollux and got no answer, period; not even a snippy or sardonic message instructing her in how to call back. She hesitated and did not call Vriska.

Twitching with indecision, she reached out to Latula, a little panicked, and asked her to contact Sollux through Mituna. Latula said she’d bypass Mituna entirely and call Sollux; if Terezi didn’t have the guts, she did. Terezi tried to explain that guts were not the problem.

Neither Mituna nor Sollux answered Latula’s hailing. Disconcertingly, she also couldn’t raise Damara or anyone on Hellmurder.

She tried John’s private line, finally, nervously, not just the one to the ship but the one which projected information directly into their cortices through the implants.

John answered. “’Rezi, what’s the matter?”

“Is everything all right?” she asked. She was aware that she probably sounded nervous, and that John would pick up on it.

“I’m fine.” She could hear the frown in John’s voice, the twitching way their fingers betrayed confusion. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine.” She snapped. “John, are you about to do anything stupid or dangerous?”

John hesitated just a millisecond before answering, just enough for Terezi to latch on. “No, of course not.”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “Oh, no you don’t.”

“It’ll be fine, ‘Rezi,” John assured. “It won’t be more than a month or two, and we’ll be fine—just a trip we’re taking, Jake’s with us—”

“You and I both know Jake’s in no condition to protect you. Is Jade the other person?”

“How did you—no, no. Yes,” John said, the barest hint of a quaver in his voice. “Terezi, it’ll be fine. I swear. We’re taking _Tempest_ , we’ll have weaponry—”

“Who’s your backup?” Terezi asked, acidly. “What’s wrong with you? First you ask me for a fight, now this—what’s going on?”

“Terezi, it’ll all turn out okay,” John said, voice shaky now. “It won’t matter soon—we’ll see how it ends, I—there are things we need to talk about when I get back.”

“Oh? I wonder why I don’t entirely believe you. Answer me, John.”

“I’m sorry,” John blurted. “I’m so sorry, ‘Rezi, I am, I can’t tell you right now but every thing’s wrong.”

“What does that mean?” Terezi sat up in her chair. “John, don’t you dare. Let me guess. You’re going into Deadspace. You think there’s something there that’ll save Jake. You and Jade think you can handle it on your own, and you don’t have backup. You’ve been systemically alienating everyone who could help; John, that’s not okay. I’m heading there now.”

“Wait, ‘Rezi, just a while, I swear I can handle this.”

“I said no. I’m not allowing you to handle it. _Can_ does not mean _should._ John, stop right where you are.”

She could sense John’s indecision and nervous energy, the way they paced and kept half-trying to disconnect, giving up, and reaching out again, only to try to draw back immediately afterward.

“Don’t you dare,” Terezi repeated. “Listen to me, _John._ Sit tight right now. I’ll come to get you soon, all right? You’re not taking a step without me.”

“I’m already in _Tempest_ so I don’t think I’ll even need to take a step…” they petered off under the harsh disapproval she expressed through the link. “’Rezi, I _really_ don’t need you to hold my hand.”

“Oh yes you do.” Terezi huffed. “Listen up, there: I’m not letting you go off and try to get killed without me there, capische? I’ll be _there_ when you die.”

“And that’s not unsettling at all,” John dryly replied. “Look, ‘Rezi, it’s fine, it’ll be fine, and I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think so.” Terezi stabbed a finger in his direction, feeling him flinch. “I think that I’m coming there right this instant and that you’ll accept my goddamn help.”

“I’m already preparing to leave,” John said. “Drop it, Terezi.”

She stopped, scowled, and then slapped the console in front of her. “ _John Thomas Crocker,_ I am _not_ letting you go off to get yourself killed! I’m not going to lose my kismesis and I’m not going to let you get hurt just because you think you’re invincible, so I’m going there right now to help you!”

“How’d you know my middle name? No, wait, Terezi, I can’t, okay? This isn’t some thing I can do with other people’s help. This is House business. You can’t just jump in like that.”

“We’re _married,_ John,” Terezi answered, voice frigid. “I have every damn right to stick my nose in your business.”

“Terezi, please!” John shouted, raising his voice against her in a way she never thought he would. “Hano’s breath, Terezi, I love you—hate you, same difference—and I can’t just take you on this fucking mission, and it’s not because I think it’s too dangerous for you!”

That slowed her, and she paused for a moment, long enough for the computer to ping her to keep entering instructions. “What,” she asked, cold as anything, “Does that mean, John?”

“I trust you,” John tried desperately. “It’s just some thing you don’t want to know about, please trust me, you definitely don’t want to know about it.”

“John, don’t you dare.”

“I dare,” he snapped, and closed the conversation. Terezi stopped dead for a moment and then howled in blind fury at the screen, finishing the entry as quickly as she could.

John might think that she didn’t know where he was going, but she had a hunch and she’d learned to trust those.

Terezi fired off in the direction she’d chosen, ignoring the warnings the computer helpfully provided about that particular sector of Deadspace.

 

Sollux

Sollux carefully connected the last two conduits. Eridan, lying on the couch behind him, made an interested noise and flicked his wrist.

A map of Caliborn sprang up, stars, planets, and spiral arms in pinpricks of light. Eridan clapped slowly.

“That’s damn useful, Captor.” He rolled off the couch and approached, picking spots on the map at random to magnify. “This has all the pockets of Deadspace?”

“Yeah, as far as I’m aware.” Sollux bumped Eridan’s arm away to pry one open. “This one’s between Calliope and Caliborn. It’s killed people before.”

Eridan frowned at it. “What kind of people?”

“Standard procedure with Deadspace artifacts is containment and stabilization.” Sollux droned. “Old stealth and time tech are nudged right up to it. The activation kills anything living and bubbles it. Anything trying to get through the bubble would be torn apart going from the inside.”

“And trying to pop it from the outside?” Eridan asked.

“It’s supposed to be impossible, not deadly, but a couple greenshifters learned to get through. Two of ‘em. Joanna and Jonathan Crocker. But you have to do it bare-handed. Only gives with bare skin, who even knows how Blood works, and then barely. I don’t think they ever managed to erase the scars.”

“So what happened?”

“Some Crockers who didn’t know what they were doing went in.” Sollux tapped a point. “They reached the edge and… we don’t know. Lalonde found them. Raspberry jam was an understatement.”

“It wasn’t a stasis accident?” Eridan asked with a skeptical glance.

“No, definitely not. The ship was cracked open. Bubbles were broken, but there was hull damage.”

“That sounds like a weapon.” Eridan mused.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Fuck you, Watson. No, I mean a cherub weapon. Do you have any images of the ship?”

Sollux could vaguely recall the images Aradia had gleaned from the Lalonde shipbank from when it was sent in for repairs. “Don’t expect a miracle.”

“Oh, no chance.” Eridan sneered. “Pull it up.”

The image and short video clip were horrifying even as a blurry, unrefined mess. The ship had been peeled open like a tin can, decorated with random spires of crystallized residue from whatever sort of weapon had been accidentally fired. Spread around it was a glassy, pearlescent spray of matter, standing out in the darkness of space like a ghostly footprint. Eridan leaned closer, pinching his chin between his claws.

“That looks like a Homunculus weapon was fired.” He swiped it, peering closer at the spikes. “Yes, that’s Homunculus construction. You stepped into a battlefield there.”

Sollux waited _patiently_ for Eridan to elaborate.

“Homunculus weapons are weapons of blended tech—stuff we can’t recreate. Not even I know that much about them. But they can be used, if you know how to avoid pulling the trigger. Dangerous, though. Those spires won’t dissolve for several hundred years. That, or they’ll explode violently very soon.”

“What are they?” Sollux asked, finally. “The spires.”

“Fused space-time.” Eridan replied, “As far as we know. The dissolution tends to be a little explosive and triggered by contact with other matter.”

Sollux grimaced. “So they stepped on something that fired?”

“Yeah. It’s Calliope or Caliborn’s weapon, most likely; they messed with homunculus things.”

“Things.” Sollux mimicked. “Things not even the great curators know?”

“Things no one knows.” Eridan snapped. “The problem is that as long as we’ve been around, the Cherubs were there for longer. Scratch might not be the only one of his kind. And there’s no saying how long he had his hands in Caliborn, or even Calliope. He could have seeded himself entirely into any House.”

“That’s fucked up.”  Sollux crossed his arms. “Whose do you think it is?”

“I think it’s Calliope’s, honestly. Not sure quite what it is, but it looks like Calliope’s weapon.” Eridan prodded at the Deadspace region unhappily. “She’s not so savage normally, but they probably spooked her.”

“You think she’s there?” Sollux asked.

“No. It might be her equivalent of Scratch. She wouldn’t have gone against Caliborn and Scratch alone. Bad strategy, and she wasn’t stupid.”

“So whatever that is, she’s going to protect it,” Sollux translated. “Scratch isn’t autonomous. He needs servants. There’s something protecting it.”

“It’d know how to neutralize Scratch.” Eridan floated lightly to the top of the map. “That’s the biggest issue, right there. Without something to hold back Scratch, Dad’s relatively limited in what he can do and you’re in trouble. By extension, then, so am I.”

“It could get to you through me?”

“I don’t know how it’s been influencing you or the Houses. Just that it has been. It would have had to be relatively intimate contact.”

“Relatively intimate like how?”

“Everyday contact with something others encounter daily… that sort of thing.” Eridan flicked his fins up and down. “It could even have been a Seed, not even a communicator link to him.”

“Where did your dad get Scratch?” Sollux asked. “Could he have been actually, physically there?”

“It could have.” Eridan mused. “After all, we caught him when Feferi and Meenah came floating out, and they were—oh.”

“Oh, what?”

“Nothing.” Eridan busied himself swimming up around the map. “This bit’s a little cloudy. Do you have any data to resolve it a little better?”

“No—wait a moment—what did you just figure out?” Sollux paced to the other side, partially to get a better look at the fuzzy spot and partially to corner Eridan.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Eridan said dismissively. “See it? Right here.”

“Eridan!” Sollux went on tiptoe to look at him. “Tell me!”

“Some other time. We’re getting a call.”

“Fine.” Sollux hissed, taking his attention from the room to the call Eridan was accepting. “Who is it?”

“Feferi,” Eridan said, after a long moment. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Oh. How will that work?”

“I’ll project an avatar through the computer,” Eridan said. “Just talk like you normally would, landdweller.”

Sollux blinked and found himself staring at Feferi’s avatar through Eridan’s eyes, and knew, suddenly, that she was looking at two avatars in her own ship.

“Hello, Sollux.” She chirped. “Have you been well?”

“I’ve been thinking about going back into—uh—Ouroburos Space.”

“What?” Feferi’s smile vanished. “You’re what? Did Eridan put you up to this?”

“No. He actually thinks it’s an awful idea.”

“Because it is.” Feferi’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare. Eridan, don’t let him even think about it.”

“We’re doing it,” Sollux said before Eridan could interrupt. “It’s a good idea. We’re going to find the Crockers and Calliope’s General.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Feferi asked. “Absolutely certain? You’re putting both of yourselves at risk.”

“We’re doing what needs to be done.” Sollux shrugged. “Look, we need something to help us out with Scratch and maybe give us more information on what’s happening and why now.”

Feferi sat quietly, resting her chin on her hand. “I know, but it’s especially dangerous in the radius around the General. You know what happened to your little brother and Damara when they went there.”

“They got hurt. But ED’s a curator. He’s neutral. She won’t see him as a threat.”

“We’ll see.” Feferi frowned. “I’ll be going with you.”

“What?” Eridan pushed his way forwards. “No, Fef, you’ll definitely be interpreted as a threat. It’s more dangerous for you.”

“I’m stronger than you are.” Feferi sat up straight, like a queen, and raised her chin. “Even if I can’t go to speak with the General, I can serve as a conduit between the Ouroburos Houses and the Curators. The more, the merrier. Safety in numbers.”

“The more, the more room we give our enemies to attack us.” Eridan poked at Sollux. “Tell her.”

“No, she’s right. Aradia can vouch for her and she doesn’t look as weird as you guys do, so they’ll trust her more. Yeah, it’ll put her in danger, but so does breathing.” Sollux shrugged, painfully aware of Eridan’s seething frustration. “ED, we’ll all three of us go.”

“That’s bullshit.” Eridan pointed at him. “The troll Houses will _never_ trust her.”

“What does that mean?” Sollux asked.

“Yes, Eridan, what does that mean?” Feferi asked with insincere sugar.

Eridan waffled for a moment. Sollux could feel his indecision and worry. Something seemed to click, and he said, with more calm than he probably felt, “Because she’s fuchsia-blooded. Because she’s the daughter of the Empress.”

“Excuse me?” Sollux asked, his gorge rising. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“What? What does that mean?” Feferi leaned forwards, eyes wide and worried. “Sollux? Eridan?”

“Condescension was like a nursery,” Eridan blurted, words spilling out of him like he’d been holding them back for years. “There were three children there, three baby Empresses, that the Condesce kept safe. After she died, supplies stopped coming and they only had so long to live—that’s why the whole place got polluted and messy, because the ship stopped having someplace to dump its waste and it didn’t have fresh nutrients coming in to keep itself up. Dad found it and felt bad, so he interfered and started feeding it fluids and shit, stuff to keep you guys alive. The youngest one died anyway, though, she was poisoned by the ammonia and stuff that Condescension normally dumped.”

Still sick to his stomach, Sollux turned to Feferi. “The Empress ruled the trolls for years. She was nearly immortal and she was—a tyrant, a total bitch. There was an uprising a good long time ago and she died. Everyone thought that was the end of it, since she never donated anything to the Mother Grub’s slurry.”

Feferi’s hands clenched, convulsively, around the arms of her seat, knuckles going pale gray and colorless. “And Meenah and I… we are she?”

“Not her,” Sollux hastened to reassure her. “You’re your own people. There are just a lot of bad memories.”

“Connected to your blood,” Eridan clarified, less helpfully. “So it’s best if you stay to the human side of Ouroburos or don’t go in at all.”

“And you sit there and hope they’ll—what? Actually buy that Sollux is in you?” Feferi winced at her wording, but barreled on. “Actually believe that you’re harboring him and not just pretending to?”

“Do you think you’re any better a prospective diplomat?” Eridan snapped back. “Oh yes, here comes the troll-monster possessed by a ghost and the daughter of the _greatest tyrant ever known_ , they’ll totally listen to us!”

Something stirred in Eridan’s memories, poking Sollux. “Vantas least of all,” he said. He blinked. Why had he…? “No, Eridan and I should try going to them first, I think. After the Crockers. Shit.” More memories stirred from the back of Eridan’s mind. His jaw dropped.

Eridan sensed his shock and turned to him. “Sol?”

“What do you _mean_ , the Crockers were raised by the Empress?” his voice rose to an uncomfortably high squeak at the end. “That’s—”

“—not the point,” Eridan interrupted. “My _point_ is that Feferi, you’re going to have trouble getting anyone to take you seriously at all. Human, troll, whatever.”

“That’s not _fair_ ,” she said, subdued.

“No, it isn’t,” Sollux muttered. “If only you had a different blood color. Shit! You’re the best with people there is.”

Feferi smiled radiantly. “ _Thank you,_ Sollux. Who should I go to, then?”

Who would listen to Feferi? Who? Sollux wracked his brain.

“Terezi!” he exclaimed.

“Who?”

“My moirail,” Sollux waved a hand. “Teal. Terezi Pyrope. They’re lawkeepers, neutral, and she has ties to Crocker. If you namedrop me, she’ll listen to you. Try talking to _her!_ ”

Eridan grumbled, irritated that Sollux had arrived at an answer first. “Yeah, she’s just about perfect. She’s smart and has a lot of big names listening to her.”

“Where do I find her?”

“No idea,” Sollux confessed. “Um. The teal planet, maybe? She might be heading toward the Crockers. She’s handfasted to John Crocker.”

“What’s her ship’s name?” Feferi asked.

“GallowsCalibrator,” Sollux said. “Approach her with my name first. Seriously.”

“Aggressive?”

“Something like that.”

“Good luck, then,” Eridan said, sarcasm thick on his tongue. “To you _and_ to us.”

 

 


	3. Embers and Amber

Chapter 6: Embers and Amber

Roxy

Roxy held out her hand lazily to have it scanned, smiling at the Reunion tech. She frowned in response. “You’re drunk.”

“Little bit.” Roxy grinned.

“It shouldn’t impact anything, just remember to be careful.”

Roxy saluted sloppily. “Thanks, will do, see ya!”

The tech waved her off to a seat in a small cramped cubicle underneath the Reunion bank, where the helmet and wires sat innocuously atop a padded chair. It’d been a long time since the last reunion, but this certainly wasn’t Roxy’s first time at the rodeo. Nah, she knew this like… like… the back of her hand. Sure. That worked.

She put the helmet on and sat contrary to the chair, slinging her legs over the arms of it. “Beam me up.”

Almost immediately, she entered the Reunion. She didn’t like it as much as Dirk and Rose did, found it kinda weird like Dave did. The computer itself always seemed to take offense to her and the way the Light shied away from her.

Sniffle. Sniff. Broke her heart right in two, that did.

As per usual, Roxy inputted a quick request for access to her House’s back history, the pertinent parts of other Houses’ strands, and for her strand to be exported. Hopefully Dirk wouldn’t notice the amount of drunken haze. She shrank into her chair a little. Roxy had gone nearly thirty years without a relapse this time. She didn’t want to see Dirk’s disappointment again.

She bade her time, entertaining herself by pressing her fingertips together and toying with her own hair until it started weaving things into her own strand.

Wait. Her eyes narrowed. Something was different.

Her strand went as far back as to a certain point in time, one she couldn’t exactly pinpoint. It was a little frayed from the memories not her own, branching off of her House’s strand for the durations between Reunions, but it was fairly regular, branches reaching only as far back as to the first reunion. The initial ten thousand hadn’t been trusting enough to allow other Houses access, so anything before that was limited.

Somehow, though, a new strand, connected only by thin filaments of memory, was reaching up from before the very beginning. It had the flavor of Lalonde, but Roxy couldn’t discern whose. Her Housemother? Her Houseaunt? Was it… male? She tried to peer into it as it spun in blithely, but only caught a few glimpses.

The memories belonged to a young man, she thought, maybe twenty-six years old near the end of the strand, physically. He had lip and eyebrow piercings and several hoops in his ears, sunglasses covering the Lalonde photophobic eyes, and the Lalonde sigil tattooed on the very top of his shoulder.

He didn’t wear a skinsuit, startling enough, but a zippered sleeveless vest covering a cap-sleeved cotton (!!) shirt. Tight jeans. He was a planet dweller? From before Lalonde’s House began.

A connection was forged, and Roxy became utterly certain that this was Dietrich Lalonde, the man who’d contributed the Y-chromosome to Rue Lalonde’s DNA when she’d cast the House.

Whoa. Dietrich was _built._

Roxy got another quick peek into his memories and was startled at the sense-imprint of a warm hand on his chin, tugging at the zipper at his throat. A smiling face, ruffled salt-and-pepper black hair, thick glasses—

What in the green skies of fucking _Tralfamador,_ why was _Jacob Harley_ in Dietrich’s memories? More to the point, what was he doing? Even more pertinent, why had no one mentioned this before?

Replaying the flash of memory again and again, Roxy couldn’t rid herself of the sensation of dread. Jacob Harley was a ghost—no one could prove he wasn’t connected to any one of the Houses, but no one could prove he wasn’t, either. Reports had pegged him conspiring with any Caliborn House under the sun, with Crocker, with Galodi, with Lalonde. Roxy had always ignored those rumors—they were ridiculous, right?

Had Dietrich been the one supplying Harley with information to go off of? Had Dietrich told Harley about the reunion at Colamér? Was that how Dietrich had been one of the survivors? He’d been on the ship, but he’d escaped somehow. Could it have been Harley’s doing?

_Starshit._

Roxy’s vision was occluded, briefly, by the shadow of a familiar woman in blue (the Crocker matriarch? But long dead, and she’d never attended the Reunion) before it was torn apart.

The tiny sense of foreboding from before returned with a creeping cloying feel like rancid oil. She twitched.

Roxy’s mind called up an image of dread, just because it could, with long teeth and claws, like a black dog the size of a horse, eyes bulging and creepily aware, but with the flopping ears of something else, a few elements of one of the Lovecraftian metamorphs Rose worshipped in their youth, and called it perfect.

Roxy screamed and flung the helmet off before the Reunion bank could complete the weaving, dashing it against the side of the cubicle. She threw the door open and ran full-tilt down the hall past the bewildered tech, heart hammering.

Her mind didn’t know how to stop (alcohol depressed the brain’s ‘braking’ mechanisms, her internal monologue helpfully supplied, oh god, please let her _sober the fuck up_ ) and decided to make an andalusite-skinned bipedal avatar for the horror, redoubling her conviction that it lived like a lurking disease in the depths of Dietrich’s memories, and bit into her _._

Roxy flung open one of the cubicle doors and tore Dave out of it roughly. His mouth opened as if to protest but shut the moment he got a good look at her, and without asking he sprinted out and opened the cubicle opposite his, getting Rose.

Roxy found Dirk a few cubicles down, and with Dave’s help pulled him out. She set down the hall at a hysterical pace, dimly sensing Dave’s emotions rising with panic alongside hers.

Roxy only slowed down once she was in _Rocky Road,_ where she collapsed to the ground. In a flash, Dirk was helping her up, pelting her with questions about why she’d left the reunion.

The monster paced through her mind, hand on the ruff of the eldritch terror, wrinkled sillimanite forehead creasing further as though it smiled inside the folds. She found herself incoherent, slapping Dirk away.

She had seen the Crocker matriarch before it filled her head. Roxy shoved Rose out of the way, regretting only momentarily the roughness, stumbled to the control panel, and gave the ship a new destination.

_Please, please, please, let Jane be at Hellmurder Island._

Dave wrapped an arm around her shoulders gingerly, hoisting her upwards so she could fold down partially on top of him, resting her cheek on his forehead. He pulled her to the overwide couch-thing where they slept when not on duty and sat down. Roxy felt the ship shudder as it took off and couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, even though—

Even though the stone-bird-thing was still in her head, and still waiting with rough paneled fingers like a cubist painting.

She was brought suddenly back to herself by Rose’s sharp slap delivered briskly to the cheek not pressed against Dave’s silky towheaded scalp.

“Sorry,” she croaked, eyes focusing on Rose and Dirk. She could feel a light bruise forming. That would suck later. “Sorry.”

“What happened?” Rose asked gently. Dirk’s foot tapped on the floor.

Dietrich’s memory welled up briefly, this time with a sense-impression of fleeting pain at his fingertips, slow-forming bruises on his shoulders and ass and a headache starting as he pressed himself into a tiny crevice, clinging to tiny cracks in the floor with his nails and bracing his head against a panel, back arched so that he could fit.

 _“Jump,”_ said a voice before Roxy turned away from the memory, clinging to Dave like a lifeline. She had a feeling that Dietrich had never done that, or allowed himself that. Poor fucking sod.

“There was this thing.” She croaked. “In the bank. I think Janey can get it out.”

“What kind of thing?” Dirk asked, and okay, he’d probably know more than Jane, y’know, seeing as he was a _goddamn programmer_ and he’d made a computer copy of his own brain as a thirteen-year-old. Roxy shrugged listlessly.

“Like…” she bit her lip. “I can’t say.”

 _Surely you can,_ coaxed the bird-monster, lips paling from charcoal-grey to an anemic cream when it smiled.

“I really can’t.” She heard herself snap.

Dirk raised an eyebrow. “A virus? A bug? A weird set of memories incompatible with your human flesh? Give me something to work with.”

Roxy shook her head. “I need to talk to Jane. I think she’ll know something? I think a Crocker’ll know something.”

Dietrich’s memories, overwhelmingly strong and tinted warm and sweet-smelling, tried to spill over again. Roxy nearly puked.

“I think the Reunion put more into my head than… than it’s before.” Roxy said faintly.

The ship shuddered again as it transitioned to a different speed, rocketing around the last few moons of Reunion. Rose stood and went to the viewscreen, looking a little pained.

“What’s wrong?” Dave asked, voice a low thrum against her head. Rose jumped slightly, as if she hadn’t anticipated being noticed, and then huffed.

“I’m just thinking about Grandfather Crocker,” she replied blandly. “He said he hated the Reunion. I said I thought he was crazy. He didn’t look angry. He looked frightened.”

Dirk’s forehead creased over his sunglasses. Roxy experienced a wave of vertigo (looking down from someone else’s eyes at Dietrich and a man talking, who was he talking to? She leaned forward to see as he turned to face her) and turned her face into Dave’s hair. It smelled good. Dave always took good care of his hair.

“Why are we listening to him?” Dirk asked. “If you remember, he’s the one who nearly destroyed Lalonde’s gene banks. He nearly killed Rue and Rhea. He nearly killed Dante.”

Rose screwed up her mouth. “He told me the truth. More than any other Crocker has, lately. And shouldn’t we take how terrifying and dangerous he is as a warning, considering that he’s afraid of the reunion? In light of what’s happened to Roxy, I’m inclined to share his sentiments.”

Roxy grumbled. “Still here.”

“I know.” Rose sighed. “I’m sorry. How are you feeling?”

The avioid demon leered at her, resting its too-long arms on the dog thing. Roxy shook her head and mashed her cheek harder against Dave’s skull. He made a startled, not entirely displeased, noise and hugged her more tightly.

Roxy patted Dave’s cheek softly. “Rosie, Dave likes hugs.” She saw in the corner of her vision the skin over his cheekbones flare red and grinned, pressing a smacking kiss to his forehead.

Rose snorted. “Loves them.”

Dirk sat down on a bench, watching them with distant eyes. Roxy made a beckoning gesture. “I know who else loves hugs. Dirky-Dirk!”

Dirk shook his head.

“No, come on, Dirk!” she squeezed Dave more tightly to her chest, ignoring his embarrassed meep, and grabbed Dirk’s popped collar to pull him into the hug. Rose cackled.

“You get a hug too,” Roxy threatened, gesturing with her fingers, heels of her hands still shoving Dirk and Dave into her by the napes of their necks. Rose giggled and wrapped her arms around the whole group.

Roxy felt herself relaxing some as Dirk looped an arm around her and the hug entire softened, Rose resting her chin on Roxy’s shoulder and Dirk and Dave bumping forehead to chin next to her chest. She knew Dave was more than likely Caliborn red, and that Dirk was keeping his face very still, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

After a few minutes, Dave went limp against her and she felt his face relax at her neck, Dirk’s shoulders slowly becoming less rigid, and Rose let go of them with a smile.

“You three stay like that. I’ll hail Hellmurder when we get close enough.”

Dirk shuffled off his glasses. “Lights thirty percent, please.”

Rose patted his head and left. Dave tugged off his own glasses and folded them in his lap. “’M gonna fall asleep.” He mumbled, turning his face back into her throat. “Bluh.”

“Mom RoLal gives the best hugs,” Roxy boasted. “You gonna nap too, Dirky?”

“I’ll stay awake,” Came the answer, quiet as Dirk usually was. “You can fall asleep if you want.”

“Nah,” Roxy replied with forced cheer. Sleep helped her unpack things after the Reunion. The last thing she wanted to do was unpack whatever it’d unloaded into her.

 _You can try, but I’m still here,_ it reminded her, stony face cracking into a wider-yet smile.

Roxy ignored it steadily, staying awake and staring solidly through the viewport at the stars flicking past. Rose’s head bobbed around, hands in motion over the keyboard. Probably communicating with Jane. Roxy’s chest gave a pang; she hadn’t spoken to Jane since Rose and John had had their fight.

Dave’s breathing evened out and she chanced a glance downwards. He was fast asleep, hands balled up in her jacket over her back and side, lips parted slightly. Roxy looked over at Dirk, who was more alert, still leaning against her, silver eyelashes flickering. He looked like he desperately wanted sleep.

“It’s okay to sleep.” Roxy soothed, raising a hand to stroke it through Dirk’s longish hair. Funny. She couldn’t really feel the individual strands. She was probably a little tipsy still. He made a protesting grunt. “C’mon, Dirky.”

“I’m going to stay awake until we get to Hellmurder.”

Roxy whined in frustration and dropped her head forward to nestle against Dave’s. In a perfect world, so would she.

They stayed still for several minutes, only shifting to blink and pop their ears when Rose dilated their time. Bubbles that big were risky, but Roxy was only grateful that she didn’t have to be in a stasis bubble alone. There, she might be with the bird-demon, falling asleep without Dave’s gentle breath to remind her to stay awake.

Rose shifted around in the cockpit, blurrily fast, mouth barely recognizable as she spoke into her mouthpiece.

Why had no one else gotten it? Was it that Roxy had been drunk? That couldn’t be it, other clones had gone to the Reunion drunk. But what made her different? Why had the reunion tried to kill her?

The stasis bubble collapsed in a controlled wave of silvery distortion, startling Dave awake. Jane’s voice filled the pod, confused.

“Hello! Welcome back to Hellmurder Island. I’m a little startled you aren’t at the reunion, but you’re always welcome here!”

Thank Calliope for Janey. Roxy wobbled to her feet and charged the door, barely flinching when she collided with its hurriedly-opening edge. She ran pell-mell down the familiar corridors until she found Jane.

Jane looked so ordinary in her sky-blue skinsuit that Roxy almost forgot about the bird-thing and demanded they go watch movies for Roxy to throw popcorn at the screen while Jane laughed at the terrible jokes. But she didn’t, and flung her arms around Jane instead.

“Janey, there’s a thing in my head and the Reunion put it there.” She rushed out.

Jane patted her on the back stiffly. “Roxy, I’m sorry, but what’s the matter? Isn’t that what it’s supposed to do?”

“Not like this,” Rose said. “Roxy tore us out in a panic. I think it’s downloaded a virus into her implants.”

“Why didn’t Dirk take a look at it, then?” Jane asked. “I can understand wanting to come here, but _Rocky Road_ has repair facilities, doesn’t it?”

“I think it’s a Crocker thing.” Roxy told her, straightening up and pointing unevenly at her. “I think you can get it out.”

Jane frowned. “I can try. I’m good at the medical equipment. Well… we’ll see. We do have the scanners set up already.”

“Oh?” Rose asked nonchalantly.

“We were thinking about putting Jake’s implants in.” Jane explained, turning around. “I’m sorry, that sounded odd, didn’t it? We never gave him his implants. It was only recently we even considered the notion.”

Roxy caught a glimpse of Dirk’s appalled expression as Jane wheeled her around. Eep. Dirky.

Jane’s medbay was tidy as always, and the scanners definitely were set up. Roxy gratefully allowed herself to lie down flat against the scanning table. Jane stripped her skinsuit off, grumbling, and began to scroll through options. “What do you want me to look for?”

“Anything out of the ordinary.” Roxy yawned. “It should be pretty out there.”

Jane’s frown deepened. “You’ll need to go to sleep for me to examine your cortical implants like I should.” She warned Roxy. “Are you all right with that?”

“Golden.” Roxy yawned again. “I think I can right now. Wake me up if you think you might explode my brain, k?”

Jane smiled brightly. “I don’t think I shall.” She selected a small syringe and filled it from a bottle she’d taken out of the refrigerator. Roxy obediently held her arm out for Jane to inject her.

“Sleep well.” Jane said gently. “With any luck, nothing will be there.”

Roxy closed her eyes.

Almost immediately, Dietrich swallowed her world and dragged her away.

 

Dietrich

It was a spring morning on Colamér when Dietrich first met Jacob Harley. Exhaustingly hot, as the beach on a water planet so near the sun tended to be, he was fanning himself and waiting for the transport to come take him down to the robotics lab House Gaebril had set up on the seafloor when Jacob Harley slid into the seat next to his.

“Hello, young chap,” he’d offered with a wink, his mustache curling up slightly at the edges. Dietrich had felt his lips curving upwards, and barely managed to stop himself from smiling completely, maintaining his cool with a small, neat smirk.

“Hello, grandpa. What’s an old man like you doing out here?”

“Visiting friends.” Jacob Harley had chuckled at Dietrich, friendly and willfully oblivious to Dietrich’s slight. “Friends who pointed me over here. You’re a Lalonde?”

“Yeah.” Dietrich unzipped the collar of his vest slightly, allowing the breeze to cool the hollow of his throat. “Junior. Why?”

“Lalonde’s been doing wonderful things in robotics and biochemistry!” the man had gushed, and launched into an excited description of how he’d learned about Rue’s most recent discoveries and Dietrich’s inventions. He felt a warm glow when the man rained praise on his work but took the opportunity to study him.

The man was perhaps in his thirties or forties, despite Dietrich’s original jab, and if he was older, he had aged fantastically. Some (premature?) grey at his temples did nothing to detract from his thick, wild black hair, and he had a five o’clock shadow. His eyes were a cataract-coated green, of what shade Dietrich couldn’t tell, and his dark skin hadn’t yet begun to show his age in depigmentation. All told, he was startlingly handsome and animated in a way Dietrich didn’t often encounter.

Alas, men of that age and elegance didn’t often consider young men like Dietrich fair game. He self-consciously adjusted the collar of his vest and leaned back against the bar.

To Dietrich’s pleasure, the man turned out to be well-versed in technological theories and revolutions from at least the past decade. A few comments and they found themselves in a rapid-fire dialogue, the man making terrible jokes and snapping a pair of finger pistols at Dietrich when he let out a startled laugh or two.

“So, Lalonde, I haven’t asked your name.” the man interrupted himself mid-sentence. “I’m Jacob Harley.”

“You still haven’t asked my name.” Dietrich noted with a wry grin. “Dietrich, just in case you wanted to know.”

“Oh.” Jacob Harley’s cheeks colored a pleasing tint of red. “Oh. And you just let me go on making a fool of myself! My word.” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly and slipped into a delighted smile.

“You said yourself that you didn’t ask,” Dietrich teased.

Harley’s face grew a brighter-still grin. “So I didn’t! I suppose I deserved that, then. Serves me right!”

Someone tapped Dietrich on the shoulder and he turned, realizing with chagrin that despite his desire to appear unengaged, he’d moved to face Jacob Harley completely, almost leaning out of his seat.

The Gaebril boatman seemed unaccountably pleased, grinning at Dietrich. He couldn’t stop himself from blushing when he turned back to Jacob, who’d paused for the interruption.

“Sorry, my ride’s here.” Dietrich said, jumping down from his chair. To his surprise, Jacob Harley jumped with him and dusted off his pants before holding out a hand to Dietrich.

“Pleasure meeting you, Dietrich Lalonde.” Jacob Harley said with a wink. Dietrich grabbed his hand, trying to restrain himself from seeming excited. He was almost thirty, he couldn’t be going goo-goo over every cute guy this side of the spiral arm.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Harley.” Dietrich purred, whipping his wrist out of Jacob Harley’s hand after two hard shakes. “Later.”

“I’ll see you soon!” Harley assured him with a grin. Dietrich hoped it was the promise that it sounded like.

 

Karkat

“Vankre, that’s—”

“Rational,” Vankre said, unfazed by Karkat’s alarm. “I don’t see why you’re so upset. Your boy’s dug his grave, and he’s lain in it. We’ll hear back from him anytime now. And if not? Well. He shouldn’t have trusted them.”

Kankri, though he held no love for Sollux, flushed red with anger. “ _Vankre._ Esteemed brother-”

“Stuff it, Signless.” Vankre grinned, yellow teeth gleaming unnervingly. “Look, leave it. I don’t see why you’re going to me, anyhow.”

“Because you’re Karatous’ moirail, that’s why.” Karkat snapped. “And he should be able to do something. Requisition information, maybe.”

“From Crocker?” Vankre clucked his tongue. “Unlikely, Karkles. Captor or Megido are the only ones likely to get information out of Crocker, and good luck convincing them. Sollux and Mituna aren’t very well-loved, are they?”

“You’re making them sound like pariahs,” Kankri said, harsh.

“They aren’t?” Vankre asked, raising a lazy eyebrow. “My. I wasn’t aware they had any higher-ups in their houses who cared about them.”

“Pollux and Paxtua care,” Karkat said. “You can’t tell me they don’t.”

“Enough to go up to Crocker and demand information from them? _Crocker_?” Vankre shook his head. He put his hands on his hips, disappointed as a human father, lips pursed at their obvious naïveté. “Vantas won’t risk itself by bringing itself to their attention. Captor doesn’t care enough. Megido _definitely_ doesn’t care enough. Someone who was barred from their Reunion data and someone already dead? Hardly a loss, in their opinion.”

“That’s…” Karkat faltered. As cold as Vankre’s logic was, it was sound. Houses thought of themselves first, individual members second, as well it should be, no matter how much it infuriated him in times like this. Losing Damara or Mituna, pan-damaged deadweights, was practically a gift from Crocker. Aradia’s loss would be felt, no matter what Vankre thought; Megido wasn’t like Vantas—they saw a robotic form as a natural extension of life, a tradition begun by Eustatia Megido. Sollux had all of the power of his progenitor, none of the control; Paxtua and Pollux would miss their younger brother, but Captor would get on fine without them.

“If you can’t argue, that means I’m right,” Vankre said. Kankri snarled. Of _course_ that would get to him. Karkat grabbed his brother’s arm and held him back from launching into a tirade. Vankre smirked—obnoxious asshole—and turned on his heel, leaving.

“Karkat!” Kankri cried the moment Vankre was out of earshot. “Karkat, why wouldn’t you let me argue? He’s ignoring _so much!_ We have to do something!”

“You weren’t going to get anywhere with that brick wall of a troll,” Karkat said, nodding in the direction Vankre had vanished. “You’d just make him more suspicious. We need to do something different.” It wasn’t often that Karkat thought like this, in the sneaky, underhanded way that Terezi or a Crocker would, but they needed leverage. There had to be some way of getting _someone_ to pay attention.

“How?” Kankri asked, desperate. Though he’d started only a little distressed, the indifference of everyone had obviously worn at him until he was close to erupting.

“Who would be the perfect ones to challenge Crocker on this?” Karkat mused. Before Kankri could answer, the door burst open and Vankre stepped through, grinning like the Cheshire Troll Cat.

“Good news, little brothers,” he said. “ _Captive Tantalus_ has returned. Aradia, Damara, and Mituna are just fine.”

 _Oh, thank the stars._ But before he could even begin to sag with relief, Kankri interrupted.

“And Sollux?”

Vankre shrugged. “Dead.”

No. Oh, stars, no. how was Aradia feeling? How had Sollux died?

No, fuck all that, how was _Terezi?_

Kankri was talking, getting more and more vehement with each exchange, Vankre only more jovial. Karkat couldn’t listen to them right then. _No._

He ran for it.

Half an hour later, Kankri knocked on his door and entered

“Megido,” he said, without preamble.

“Megido?” Karkat asked.

“The perfect ones to ask Crocker about what happened, if Captor won’t do it. And they’re perfect, because…” he hesitated.

“Because?” Karkat prompted, feeling a trickling of hope.

“Because we have blackmail on them,” said Kankri.

“Blackmail.”

“Yes.” Kankri looked grim. “I shouldn’t know about it, but I—it’s not important. No. what’s important is that House Megido did something very, very stupid, and concealed something they _really_ shouldn’t have. And if they know we know? They’ll do anything we want.”

 

Dirk

Dirk engaged himself with Hellmurder’s computers the moment Roxy went under. He watched Jane’s scanning through his eyes and through Zhayd’s, ignoring the AI’s sharp, humorous commentary in favor of appraising the vertical slice-scans the moment Jane was through with them.

After a moment, he became bored with Jane’s pace and cut to take the data flow directly from the scanner rather than wait for her to finish. Without looking up, Jane smacked him.

Rose smirked when he grudgingly stepped back, letting Jane take the lead.

The pace of her work changed abruptly and she grew a little frantic. “I think I found something.”

Dirk fielded the scans and re-examined the ones he’d just discarded. _Fuck._ There was a disturbance, subtle enough that he’d missed it until Jane pointed it out.

It was in her core implants. Blood running cold, he examined the spread—deep enough to turn off her vital functions if the intrusion was malicious. And he had no real doubt it was.

“Roxy,” he muttered, turning towards her. A spike of brain activity, not from the implants but from a spot near them, answered him.

Jane’s hands danced over the paneling, teeth gritted. “She’s dreaming. It’s probably set to go off if she starts assimilating the data in the implants.”

“Erase the data?” Dirk asked.

“No time.” Jane balled up her fists. “I can try to purge it, but she’s already assimilated part of it. If I do it wrong, I could wipe her.”

Rose’s head jerked up in Dirk’s peripheral vision. “Grandfather Crocker.” She said carefully. “How nice to see you. Care to shed some… light on the situation?”

Dave groaned.

Rose’s eyebrows drew together and then her forehead smoothed out. “What? Are you—can you get it out?”

Jane stopped her scanning. “Can you embody him?”

“I can.” Rose frowned. “He says he can help… no. Stay back.”

Jane made a face. “Embody him, please. He’s better at this than I am. If Grandmother were in the Light, it would be perfect, but we can’t all have what we want.”

Rose circled around the bed to the scanner and held out her hands with a deep frown. “Jump, please.”

Dirk closed his eyes. No. Fuck that guy.

The clatter of boots convinced him to open his eyes and glower at Grandfather Crocker, standing straight in a maybe twenty-five-year-old figure. He smiled roundly at Rose.

“Thank you, dear.” He dusted his pants off and rolled up his sleeves to expose most of his forearms, tucking his gloves in the waistband of his pants. “Now, if you’ll pardon me?”

Dirk quietly studied the thin scars covering the man’s hands, snarled knots of tissue pinpointing muscles. They were a reminder, he supposed, of the brutality Grandfather Crocker was capable of, and that if he decided Roxy had to die she was dead, no matter what anyone in the room had to say about it. Jane had the best chance of stopping him, but it was only a chance.

Grandfather Crocker lightly held Roxy’s head in his hands and turned it slowly, frowning. “Jane, could you check over her internals? I have some worries.”

Jane slipped on her lead-lined gloves and ran them over Roxy’s chest and stomach. “So far, normal. For Roxy, at least. A little low on the platelet side in her bloodstream. Coagulation rate’s probably slowed down.”

“Regulated by?” Grandfather Crocker asked, tracing a line from Roxy’s forehead to his own.

“Her implants.” Jane bit her lip. “If there’s something hostile in the implants, it’s bad news for anyone, but for a Lalonde…”

“Mm.” He agreed. “There’s bruising around the base of her neck. Normally, I’d put it down to roughhousing, but the problem here is that her core implants have been hacked, no?”

“Her immune system isn’t working properly, according to the scans.” Jane added. “I’d say it’s trying to turn off just the regulators and let her body do the work for it.”

Grandfather Crocker leaned over her head. “Her pupils are contracted. Lights twenty percent, please.”

The lights dimmed rapidly. Jane leaned closer to her readouts. “I’m reading demyelination of peripheral nerves. How long did it take you to get here?”

“Maybe five hours that she experienced.” Rose supplied. “Would that be long enough for it to do serious damage?”

“Depends. Did she complain of pain?”

“No, she was just shaky. Her balance was terrible, but she’s also a little drunk, so…” Rose shrugged to hide a wince.

Grandfather Crocker stroked his fingers through her silvery hair. “Peripheral sensory neuropathy is consistent with your syndrome. I think she’d sober up a little after having an experience as… traumatizing as she did.”

Jane held Roxy’s hand steady as she inserted an IV needle. “Ten dollars the implants are actively countering repair attempts. I’ll try to normalize immune function. Will you be good with the implants themselves?”

“As gold.” Grandfather Crocker leaned down and dropped a kiss on Roxy’s forehead. “For good luck. Give me…. Hmm, five minutes and then slap me out of it.”

Jane attached a plasma bag to the IV just as Grandfather Crocker closed his eyes and went misty.

 

Dietrich

The garden at Bellerophon Convention Center was known across the galaxy for its loud beauty, with its expansive grounds and forest-like depths. From Dietrich’s vantage point at the viewing platform, he could see it all; the steel-cable bridges crisscrossing the canopy, the flocks of confused birds, the rose gardens, much farther off, and the seashore, tangled with the roots of a plant something like a mangrove.

The viewing platform was cool, cool enough that Dietrich almost wished he had a jacket, hugging his arms around his midriff. Harley, though, appeared unperturbed in his thin cotton shirt.

“Dietrich,” he greeted, plainly and openly delighted to see him. Refreshing, compared with his family’s reticence.

“Harley,” he replied, leaning on the railing and popping his hip. Harley raised an amused eyebrow.

“Jacob, please. I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t expect you, either, but then here we are.” Dietrich countered. “Dante and Rue are here if you want to meet them.”

“I think that I will be content to speak with you alone.” Harley said with a wink. “Are you speaking at the robotics convention?”

Dietrich permitted himself a small smile, inwardly a little pleased that Harley didn’t care to meet the rest of Lalonde. The other few times they’d met Dietrich had been alone on a trip to a seminar or some laboratory, but it seemed Dietrich would maintain his undivided attention even with his family there. “No, I’ll be listening. Are you?”

“I have only a passing interest in the art.” Harley chuckled, waving the suggestion away.

“Bullshit.” Dietrich jibed. They’d worked together at the last laboratory he’d been at, and Harley had equaled Dietrich in skill. His hands were preternaturally steady and strong, and his hearing was better, much to Dietrich’s hidden chagrin. If anything, Dietrich half expected Harley to be a professor under an assumed name.

“Oh, nonsense. I leave that sort of fun and adventure to strapping young lads like yourself.” Harley reached out and patted Dietrich on the head.

Dietrich caught Harley’s hand. “Well, you won’t this time, will you? You’re going to the lecture.”

“That I am.” Harley turned Dietrich’s hand in his and held it. Startled, Dietrich jerked away and sheepishly hid his hands behind his back. Damn. No. Bad Dietrich. “I’ll be attending, of course, for the novelty of it.”

“Oh, you’re attending for the novelty. Of course you are. Nothing else could possibly draw you to a lecture on something you told me interested you last time I saw you.”

“Nothing, you say.” Harley stroked his chin pensively. “Hmm. No consideration of the idea that I might have just attended because I was certain you’d be there?”

Dietrich froze. He’d considered himself sunken from the beginning—someone clearly unconsidered in Harley’s affections (of course, there was such a small chance he liked men, and less still that he’d like a man as inexperienced and novice as Dietrich, a man with the status and arrogance his titles afforded him), and the man had never visibly shown any special interest in him.  He regained his composure as quickly as possible and smirked at Harley.

“So you weren’t surprised to see me here?”

“Here in the garden, perhaps.” Harley’s cheeks pinked. “Not at the convention.”

Aww, shit. Dietrich had not anticipated this. Harley was a safe guy to crush on so long as he was unattainable, but not if he was interested in Dietrich in return.

While he was considering what would be safe to say, he’d apparently made Harley reconsider what he’d said. “My apologies if that was alarming. I did not intend to make you uncomfortable.”

Dietrich thought frantically. “Not so alarming, no. I’m just surprised that you knew where I was going to be. I didn’t talk to you about that in Telphousion.”

“It was simple enough to guess. This seems the sort of place you’d go. Much more difficult was Kari’id and, say, Chayar. You gave no indications you were considering going. Many believed it would be Rhea at Chayar.” Harley scratched the back of his head, disturbing the ever-present goggles he wore. “I’m sorry if that made you nervous.”

No, it was great, Dietrich didn’t say. Too great. Dietrich couldn’t just… attach himself to this man. He tugged at the collar of his vest. “No, no, it’s okay. How did you learn that it would be me at Chayar?”

“Dante Lalonde attended an event which I did as well. I overheard him in conversation with Zhayd and Joanna Crocker.”

Crockers. Of course. Dante always got loose-tongued around them. They were the only people Rhea ever really let her guard down around as well.

Harley looked a little flustered, hands toying aimlessly with the sleeves of his shirt. Dietrich decided to give him an out. It wasn’t like he was actively being malicious towards him, anyways.

“Lucky you, then.” Dietrich carefully allowed his face to filter into a sidelong, casual smirk. “Else you wouldn’t have been there to see Kyler Akwete’s pants fall down.”

Harley snorted, breaking into an expression of relief. “God, I would have regretted missing that.”

“It was an experience.” Dietrich messaged HAL, nearly letting out a relieved sigh when he saw that it was nearly time for the lecture. He held out his hand primly. “The lecture’s about to begin. Will you walk me to the hall, or is your disinterest so complete that you won’t take the time to do that?”

Harley broke into a grin. “I’ll attend, if it’s all the same to you.” He caught Dietrich’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin exposed by Dietrich’s gloves. “You shouldn’t give an old man hope where there isn’t any, lad. You’re going to end up breaking hearts that way.”

Dietrich caught his breath. “I’m in the business of breaking as few hearts as possible, frankly.”

Harley started and turned away from him, though not quickly enough that Dietrich missed his prominent blush. “Good on you. Which way’s the lecture hall?”

Sitting next to him, Dietrich spent the lecture more in a daze of shocked pleasure than a state of contemplation and study.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed. Next up is the second set of interludes!


End file.
